Wind and the Snow
by Nikoru-chan
Summary: Part 9 **LAST CHAPTER** now loaded. Secret fesses up, and Robin comes back. PLEASE C&C!!!
1. Default Chapter

WIND AND THE SNOW

DISCLAIMER: Robin, Batman, Spoiler and all the other Bat-characters belong to DC, Warner Bros, and whoever else. Not me. My original characters, however, do belong to me, so please ask before you run off with them. I'm making absolutely no financial gain from this piece of fiction, and am not worth suing.

NOTES: This fic takes place in the universe I set up in my previous story TWENTY, after the events described therein. Hence, while you can certainly read this story without knowledge of the first, it probably won't make a lot of sense if you do. However, as I'm pretty bad about reading novel-series in order myself, there's a quick recap provided in the prologue. But please go and read TWENTY, and write me feedback on either or both of these fics. I love feedback! Feeeeeeeeeeedbaaaaaaaaaaaaaak!! cookie monster impression

PROLOGUE – or, What Has Gone Before

as should be blatantly obvious this is a SPOILER ALERT

Robin is kidnapped after Batman betrays his identity. The organisation that takes him is headed by the sinister Doctor – an expert in mind control and personality alterations who has plans for Robin, plans that involve the 'reprogramming' of the talented teen into an ultimate assassin. Also undergoing reprogramming is a Japanese boy, Kaze, with whom Robin becomes friends as they struggle to maintain their lives and selves. When Robin finally caves and tells the Doctor his secret identity, thereby allowing him to research and thus erase his mind and memories, Kaze, whose training is nearly completed, escapes to seek help. Robin is turned by the Doctor into the assassin Vingt, and set loose upon his first target, the Batman. The attempt, and a subsequent one, fail, and Vingt's identity as Robin is revealed to the Bat-gang and Superboy. The Doctor, despairing of this, orders Vingt to kill himself, but his suicide is foiled by the quick-thinking (i.e. desperate) Superboy. However, the mindset of Vingt is destroyed, and melds with the remnants of TimDrakeRobin, creating an entirely new person, someone both familiar and not, with elements of both personalities. This new person, whose sense of self hinges on being Robin, decides that 'Tim Drake' must die, and a new secret identity be sought. He puts this plan into action shortly after hearing of the death in police custody of the Doctor (at the hands of Kaze, who also died in the attack).

Now, Robin faces a new challenge . . . school. Bryleaf Co-Educational Academy just gained a new student, one Van Casey.

GLOSSARY of terms can be found at the end of the fic.

PART ONE

Assumptions are interesting things. They colour our minds, are in fact the very framework through which we see the world. They vary from trivial to fundamental; from the assumption that unleaded petrol is, indeed, better to the assumption that the people we 'know' are in fact exactly who and what we think they are. Some assumptions are unconscious. Some aren't, but are never questioned.

This, of course, rarely poses a problem. That is, unless the assumption is a false one.

Even Batman makes assumptions.

Beneath his mask, sweat ran into his eyes. His hands, clenching his weapon from within their gauntlets, trembled with fatigue. _Last one! _Robin sized up the figure in front of him. Diminutive, the other fighter held her stance with poise and cool assurance. A distinct difference to the oversized and muscle-bound goons Robin often found himself fighting. A distinctly intimidating difference. _I'm going to do it! I will! _ Robin had already faced off against twenty or so of her compatriots, hence the fatigue that seeped through every muscle in his body. _Last one._

As if reading his thoughts, the figure spoke. "C'mon. Last one. Don't tell me you're gonna wimp out here!"

The voice spurred him on, and with a strangled cry, Van rushed at his final opponent, finishing the last of the brutal set of exercises with muscles screaming. The spectators (a crowd made up almost entirely of the aforementioned compatriots) roared their approval.

Afterwards, as he slumped on the floor in a breathless state that was not entirely feigned, the rest of the team congratulating him on his 'initiation', Van smiled to himself. Taking up Kendo was proving to be an interesting decision. _Time will tell if it was a wise one._ The action of pulling off his mask and tenugui allowed his hair to flop back around his face; Van took advantage of the screen the black (and currently sweaty-damp) mass provided to look around for the source of the voice that had goaded him earlier.

He spied her in the corner of the Dojo, carefully packing away her armour and shinai, while animatedly conversing with another of the club seniors. Despite the furtiveness of his gaze, the girl immediately noticed his regard and, smiling, waved him over.

With a catlike grace, Van slid to his feet and, slinging his own armour bag and shinai over his shoulder, went to join them. Or, really, her. Exhaustion forgotten, she was, to his mind, all that mattered at the present moment.

_Yuki. Mireba Yuki. Year mate, classmate, senior player of the Bryleaf Kendo club. _

_Kaze's cousin. With his looks, his voice. Even, sometimes, his movements._

_God, it could be him. It really could be. Except he's a she. Except she's so totally different in mind and manner, and even in the things she says with that so-similar voice. _

_Why am I doing this to myself? Kaze, my friend, is dead. She is not him. Is it because, with all the questions I have, I need her to be him? Tough, Robin. If that's the case you're way out of luck!_

"Hey! Earth to Van! Wow, I guess we really did work you too hard, ne?"

"Eh?" Van asked, intelligently.

"Like I said, how does it feel to finally be armouring up? Good isn't it?"  
"Yeah. I really feel like I've made progress, now that I'm in armour and can actually join in all parts of training." Van smiled as he replied, which was not unusual. Also not unusually, the smile was of his mouth only, not reaching his eyes. His smiles never reached his eyes, never touched the hidden sadness within.

But almost nobody noticed, just as they'd never noticed. After all, with his constant, easy smile – and manner to match - Van was easily one of the most cheerful guys around campus.

Yuki noticed. She always had. Her observational skills were another of the things about her that served Robin as a constant reminder of Kaze.

Vacating the Dojo for the Karate club session that followed theirs, Van, Yuki and the others walked to the storage cupboard where they left their armour between trainings. Watching her stow her gear with the same graceful economy of movement he'd become so familiar with in months of captivity, Van reflected on the first time she'd reminded him of Kaze. It had been, unsurprisingly, the first time they'd met. His first day at Bryleaf.

EARLIER

He'd been sitting in the principal's office, a location he intended to make sure he saw only infrequently. Having welcomed him to the school (despite it being well into semester, money made a number of things, including the academic transfer, easy), the principal was discussing various points about his study. One, at least was giving Robin some concern.

"You'll find the way we organise Gym class here is a bit different to what you're used to. In our school, you get to choose. Within reason. You play one sport at any given time; different ones for summer and winter, or a year-round one, I don't care. As long as you do them. No shirking." He eyed Robin's weedy-seeming frame pointedly. Inwardly, Robin was pleased; he and Alfred had worked long hours fitting the uniform to make him look as skinny as possible, to disguise his wiry musculature. It wasn't hard to do, but the principal's tacit confirmation that the artifice was working was good.

"Here's the list of sports we offer. You're too late for many of the beginner classes, though, so is there any sport you're already good at?"  
"N-not really, sir."

The principal nodded, his suspicions confirmed. With a paternal pat on the boy's shoulder he continued, "Well, try your best. You have about half an hour to decide, which is when your course counsellor will see you."

Recognising the dismissal for what it was, Van rose and, quickly thanking the principal, saw himself out.

His concern arose he perused the list, waiting for the counsellor to finish with whatever she was doing. Mrs Felter was running quite a bit late. Dredging up his first meeting with her from his memory, Van figured it to be a student emergency. Nothing else was likely to stop that model of efficiency from running on time.

The list was worrying. Two seasonal sports, or one year-round one. Gymnastics, Karate and Judo he dismissed out of hand; he didn't feel particularly inclined to make keeping his Robin identity secret any more difficult than it had to be. Football was out; he wouldn't risk either a sporting injury, or allowing his agility to become common knowledge. More than that, football and basketball tended to attract a lot of attention in schools and even the media. Attention he wanted to avoid.

The remainder wasn't particularly encouraging either. _Track and field, now that might be an option_ . . . Rubbing absently at his wrist, his fingers encountered the ridges of scar tissue, palpable through the cloth of his uniform to his sensitive fingers. He sighed. _Nope. Nothing that makes me wear shorts, or tank-tops, or even short sleeved shirts. Nothing where anyone can see the scars. I've enough trouble with arranging the make-up and my hair to cover the scar on my forehead without needing to worry about disguising the . . . marks . . . I have elsewhere._

For the same reason, swimming was out, as was tennis. He lingered a bit longer over archery, until he realised that it counted as only a half sport (as it only exercised the upper body) and this was compensated for by time spent in the gym. Wearing shorts and tanktops.

Van was starting to get desperate as he neared the end of the list, no neat option in sight. Part of having a secret identity was camouflage. Not standing out, but blending into the surroundings. Something he couldn't do with either scars everywhere or a permanent sick note excusing him from sports.

The solution that presented itself was so simple as to be ludicrous. The kendo team. One of the smallest clubs in the school, at about twenty members, they'd gotten few new enrolments at the start of the semester. As a result, they'd probably be fairly happy about taking on a new student, even now, to maintain their numbers.

More importantly, it was specified that the appropriate uniform was to be worn from day one. Consisting of loose-fitting hakama and gi, it would cover him from neck to below his ankles. His wrists would be bare, at least until he started wearing the armour, (which included a mask, gauntlets and breastplate)_ but I can wear sweatbands until then. I'm sure I can get or make a pair wide enough to cover the scars. _

Unexpectedly, Van had found a thrill of anticipation creeping through him. This activity was going to be very novel; his 'programming' at the hands of the Doctor had included intensive instruction on the uses of bladed weaponry, but had stopped short of actual swords. The Doctor had held that as they couldn't be easily concealed, they were useless to an assassin. Having watched Azrael training in the Cave and, once, in action, Van wasn't so sure. But blades tended to be lethal, so there was little chance he'd learn how to use them under the Bat's tutelage (though he'd certainly studied diligently how to counter them). Van was glad that neither himself as Tim-Robin then, nor himself now, had ever shown any special interest in the weapons in front of the Bat.

Closer perusal of the blurb put out by the club had indicated that as well as kendo, done with the bamboo swords known as shinai, the team also undertook training with bokken. These heavy wooden swords were used only for doing kata, or forms, but Van suspected the training would be equally as interesting as the sparring with shinai.

He'd been so engrossed in the pamphlet and it's implications that he'd scarcely noticed when the door to the counsellor's office opened. He had noticed, though, when the girl had walked through it and into him.

"A-ah! I'm sorry! I didn't see you there."  
"It's oka . . ." She had looked at him, and Van had felt a shocking jolt of recognition. Her face, though rounder and currently blotched with tears, was one he knew better than his own. "Kaze?" He breathed.

Her head snapped up, eyes actually focussing on him, focussing with the same complete attention that Kaze had evinced.

"How do you know that name? Do you . . . did you know him?"

"I . . . I . . ." Van faltered to a stop, smiling slightly to hide his confusion._ Think! Think, you moron! Without compromising your cover story! Think!_ _God, she looks like him. Like Kaze . . . Stop it! Stop reacting and think!_

The girl grew impatient and it seemed as though she would have said more, (indeed, she looked ready to drag him off and interrogate him with all the determination, if not the skill, of the Doctor) when he was saved by the grizzled head of the counsellor, poking around the door and summoning him within.

Grateful for the reprieve, he slunk off as quickly as he could, following the old woman into her office. He remained there for an hour, as she confirmed his subject preferences, and actually grinned about his choice of sport. She was, he decided, actually quite nice, and possessed of a singularly wicked sense of humour. _Counsellor Felter. I think I'd very much like not to get on her bad side. Ever._

As he'd anticipated, though not truly expected, the girl was still there when he exited the office, her body language screaming suspicion and determination. That was okay; away from the shock of seeing her face, Van had rapidly and easily come up with an explanation for her if – when – he saw her again. It was a stupid explanation, but, he hoped, one that was plausible and unlikely to generate any further interest on her part. He spoke before she could, surprising her.

"I'm sorry about rushing off earlier. You were asking me something?"

"Yeah. Yes, I was about to. You said 'Kaze'. Why?"

"Oh, that." Despite the turmoil her voice engendered in him, a voice so like Kaze's had been (though with an American accent rather than Japanese), Van managed to shrug. "I have a younger cousin who often doesn't really look where she's going. So she runs into me a lot because I'm pretty short myself, and then feels really bad about it. When we were growing up, she'd say 'are you okay, then?' To which I'd say 'I'm okay, then.' It got kinda silly in the way that family jokes do, and we started doing it with accents. When you ran into me, I sort of said it automatically." He flushed. _There, how stupid and uninteresting can you get? Let me keep my low profile, one that I'll lose with you constantly here, reminding me of Kaze by your looks, your presence. _

He got the opposite reaction to what he'd desired.

"Cousins," she said softly, with such heartbreak that Van's sympathy would have gone out to her even if she hadn't sounded like Kaze. At least it was obvious she believed him. A moment later it was equally obvious she needed to talk.

"I had a cousin. He was like my brother, almost a twin. Heh. I guess we could have been, too; both our parents were sets of identical twins that married. Our mothers were each other's twin. Our fathers also. We were born on the same day, so I really feel like we should have been as well. But we weren't, even though we grew up together.

"When I was ten, my parents and I came to Gotham to set up the American branch of Mireba industries – that's our family corporation - but my cousin and I visited each other every holiday. He was a really good pilot, so he could fly over to see me." She paused, for the first, and only, time completely unaware of Van's emotions, so wrapped up in her own was she.

"A year ago, he went missing, right after arriving in America, before he got to Gotham to visit. Missing from the San Francisco airport. The family was in an uproar, but I knew he wasn't dead. It was fading, but I could still feel the spark that I knew was him for months. Two weeks ago, I was proven right; he'd been alive the whole time. He resurfaced in the Gotham police station, where he died of a head injury. Before I even saw him, he was dead." Her lips contracted into a snarl of frustration.

"But nobody will tell me why! My cousin's dead and nobody . . . nobody can, or will, tell me why. Not the police, not my family who don't know either. No one! So when you said . . . when I thought you said his name, I was hoping maybe you could tell me more."

"I'm sorry." The tortured sound of his own voice made him wince. He wanted to tell her. He wanted to erase the mystery if only a little, to ease the mind of at least this one innocent. He couldn't. If he did, he'd endanger them both. Himself for giving up secrets he'd worked hard to protect and, some, create. Her, because she'd then know those secrets, and others. Secrets of the Organisation and the Doctor. Secrets even the Gotham police had not become privy to. And if someone wanted those secrets so hushed up that even after the Doctor's death they hadn't told the family of the most obvious of his victims, even when that family was a powerful corporate clan . . . Then that 'someone' would likely not be fazed by the idea of killing a simple girl. _A lot can be deduced from what she has said, and she's told me more than she thinks. It looks like the Organisation is still alive and kicking, even if the Doctor isn't. That, or someone's picking over its' bones. Either way, I have to be extra careful._

The girl had been embarrassed by her outburst, the rush of emotions expressed to a total stranger so, to make up for it, had offered to act as his guide around the school. (She had, she insisted, time until the next day, when she officially returned to class following her two-week absence to attend the family funeral and mourning held for Kaze.)

This had worked out particularly well (much to Van's initial consternation) because of the number of classes that by fluke they happened to share. Further, it turned out that she was one of the senior players on the kendo team. A position held despite her youth, because, as she told him with forced cheerfulness, part of her education as a child in Japan had been tuition in kendo. Van remembered Kaze mentioning his own ninjutsu training, and wondered what else the girl was capable of.

She had scampered off after giving him the tour, and getting him equipped from the school store with the requisite uniform and shinai for kendo.

"W-wait!" Van had called after her retreating form. Obligingly, she had paused and half turned. _I can't believe I'm doing this! My cover . . . _

"What's up?"

"I . . . My name's Van. What's yours?" She'd coloured prettily, and that alone had made Van more comfortable; in all his memories, Kaze had never blushed. _She isn't him. Get used to it. _Muttering something about it being 'impolite' and 'stupid' of her, she'd executed a short bow.

"I'm Yuki. Yuki Mireba." With a shy smile and a flip of her long braided hair, she'd departed, leaving Van with a heart full of ache and head full of thoughts. Not of Yuki, but of another who'd looked and sounded very like her. In Van's brain the harsh American tones of her English were replaced with the curious lilt of another's Japanese accent. _Kaze_ _. . .I . . . miss you. I need your help to stay grounded, focussed . . . to survive as me. Whoever that really is._

PRESENT

"You're doing it again," Yuki said, breaking him out of his reverie.

"Eh? Doing what?"

"Smiling like that. Not a real smile, but that smile you use to protect yourself. When you look like that I get this feeling that you're just smiling because the only alternative is screaming. That you hurt so badly you're smiling like mad to hide it, hoping it'll go away or at least that the world won't notice." She paused, choosing her next words with care.

"I know you well enough not to ask what's wrong, even though we only met a month ago. You'll never tell me about your demons, your secrets, and I respect that." Her eyes shadowed with her own pain briefly, then cleared. "But if you ever need a friend or even a friendly sparring match to work off steam, well, I'm in the next residential block over, the Girls' wing. G'night."

She left him standing in the corridor, jaw agape, wondering just how see-through he really was. _Not very,_ he finally decided, _not at all. I can fool the Bat, Nightwing, Oracle. None of them are even vaguely aware of my new secret identity, so I mustn't be particularly obvious. But to her, like Kaze, my emotions are as transparent as a pane of glass. _He did not find the thought comforting.

A memory arose, of Kaze awakening in his arms after a particularly brutal 'session' with the doctor. Of the other boy taking one look at him and seeing right through him as Yuki now did. Seeing that he'd broken, that he'd given the Doctor what he wanted; his civilian name.

Recollections of the promise Kaze had extracted, and his desperate escape to go for help - with its tragic consequences - plagued Van for the rest of the evening and well into the sleepless night.

ELSEWHERE

Also later that night, but in a different place entirely, another group of people did not sleep. In this case, however, it wasn't an acute attack of adolescent angst that plagued them, but rather an assignment. A very profitable venture, should they successfully pull it off. There seemed no reason why they wouldn't either; they simply had to get into the ruins of a (no longer) heavily armoured and hidden research facility. Once there, they would have to pick their way though the wreckage to a deep bunker, in which a single computer sat isolated and (hopefully) intact, in contrast to it's surroundings. Then, disassembling the computer and taking it with them, they simply had to get out again.

The group, a diverse bunch of mercenaries including one ex-retrievalist, managed this with a minimum of fuss. ('Minimum' being two dead and three injured from a variety of still-functional defences that the ex-retrievalist hadn't known about. Nobody really wanted to clobber him for it, though, as he had been the first to die and had done so in a spectacularly messy fashion.)

Upon exiting the site, the now much-whittled down group wasted no time in heading for their drop-off site. Once there, the computer was swapped with a shrouded figure for a suitcase of bank notes, and the group departed to split the spoils.

The woman – for that's what the receiver was, under the concealing and disguising clothes she was bundled in – transported the computer to another facility. Unlike the previous one, this one remained well hidden and well guarded, though a lot more livable. Taking the computer to a singularly luxurious suite, the woman set about restoring it to a semblance of function. She did this with the familiar ease of both an expert programmer, and one well acquainted with her surroundings (this was, in fact, precisely the case; were it not for the importance of the handover, the woman would never have left these apartments. Or her father's side.)

Dawn was breaking when her vigilance was finally rewarded. The hacking program she had designed and initiated (based on a profile of the man who had created the computer program she was trying to slice) cut through to the computer's mainframe.

The data, though breathtaking, was less complete than she'd hoped. Her father expressed a similar sentiment when he arrived, mere moments later.

"But, father," she conceded, "it is still well worth the investment money. Though we do not know his civilian identity, we now know the codename and codes for the completed work. Finding him should not be so difficult with our resources. Also, this other is of great interest. Look. There's only one, and it isn't that of the finished work, but look."

A few moments later, after perusing the newly unearthed information, the father-daughter team were as thrilled as they'd hoped.

"Excellent! A complete copy of the nearly-finished assassin's neuronal blueprint. This is exactly how his mind looked shortly before . . . he escaped? Interesting. I wonder why . . . ah. The other. His friend. He went to get help for the one who would become the first finished work.

"We can use this. We can take this blueprint and insert it elsewhere. We can make our own . . ." He checked the number of the file, "our own Eighteen. Or should that be our own 'Dix-huit.' All we need is someone who matches this profile as closely as possible."

"I'll begin searching at once, Father. Both for the successful subject, this Twenty, and for someone who can fit Eighteen's profile."  
The woman paused, and favoured her father with a brilliant smile that transformed her already lovely face into the nearly angelic.

"We will find the success. We will find Twenty. And when we do, we will take him. Or take him down."

Ra's al Ghul nodded once, then, escorting Talia on his arm with courtly grace, they left the suite to commence a manhunt. One that would span every continent of the globe. A hunt for a boy. A hunt for an ultimate killing device. A hunt for an assassin called simply 'Twenty'.

END PART ONE

GLOSSARY -  
Tenugui – a cotton cloth wrapped around the head and worn under the helmet in Kendo.

Kendo – Japanese fencing (I wince at this definition, but it's vaguely accurate, I guess)

Shinai – the bamboo sword used in kendo. Made up of four matching slats of bamboo strung together under a soft leather handle.

Bokken – wooden practice sword. Varying weights and designs, depending on what you wish to use it for.


	2. Part 2

WIND AND THE SNOW

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Robin. Or Batman. Or any of the other DC characters that I'l borrowing for this fic. I do however own the original characters, so please ask before you run away with them. I'm making absolutely no financial gain from this piece of writing, now or ever, and am not worth suing.

SPECIAL NOTE: This chapter is dedicated to j., without whose cheerful, encouraging emails this part would still be nowhere near ready. Thanks!

PART 2

It wasn't often that the Bat was considerate. Typically, he drove his followers as stringently as he drove himself. It had been the cause of more than one conflict in the Batcave, and would likely be the source of many more.

But this time, the Bat was being considerate. And, wonder of wonders, it had only taken three days of combined nagging from Nightwing and Oracle to make it so.

"Robin," Batman walked over to the Crays, where his junior partner was engrossed in a police file. Glancing at it, Batman recognised it as the file on Kaze. Despite the information he'd obtained for - and from - Gordon, the case remained stalled, and someone was working hard to keep it that way. _A number of files seem to be doing that at the moment. Though not in any connected manner. _Noting the intensity of the boy's gaze, the Bat sighed silently. _From the look of it, Nightwing is right. He could use the rest._

"Yes, Batman?"

"You have some school holidays starting in two weeks. Go to Metropolis for a fortnight and see your family."

". . ."

"This isn't a punishment, Robin. It's a chance. You've had little time to rest since . . . You should get to re-know your family on a first hand basis."

". . ."

"Tim?"  
"Understood." Forcing a smile until Batman turned back to his own task, Robin contemplated this new complication to his life. _Well, at least he let me know before applications to spend the holidays at Bryleaf closed. But no roof-swinging for two weeks! That's gonna really suck._

Batman rose, and Robin quickly followed, as they left the Cave for the nightly patrol. While Robin was now working more and more frequently solo, he still periodically went out with the Bat. It was an arrangement that worked well, and suited them both. Robin used it as an opportunity to both practice team-work and hone his ability to anticipate his mentor. Batman, well . . . though he'd never admit it, Batman found his patrols with Robin to be a sheer relief; the boy was competent and needed none of the cosseting that Spoiler seemed to require.

_I'll have to see if Connor Hawke can be convinced to stick around still longer. Maybe if I arrange for him to get a job in Gotham, he can remain Spoiler's baby-sitter. Hn._

The Batmobile roared off into the night, it's two passengers each absorbed in their own planning.

ELSEWHERE

"Our hunt has produced no results as yet, Father." The tall man standing with his back to her did not move, gave no indication he had heard. Talia waited patiently. Then,

"What of the search for an appropriate host for the Eighteen program?"

"That is proving more successful. We have discovered two candidates, both conveniently located in the one school," she hesitated.

"The catch, dear Daughter?"

"The school is in Gotham."  
The reaction this provoked proved more immediate. He turned to face her, his features seemingly chiseled from granite. His eyes, catching the eerie green light reflecting from his newest Lazarus pit, glowed demonically. Then, R'as Al Ghul smiled. A feral, wolfish grin that held only vicious glee. A smile that served only to deepen the malice in his countenance.

"Ah. The detective. This should prove interesting."

THE NEXT DAY

"Yo! Van!" Turning at the familiar call, Van waited as Yuki raced up to catch him. Though the perennial smile graced his lips, in this instance it was a little more relaxed, an almost-grin he'd developed especially for Yuki. It still didn't reach his eyes, but she seemed to appreciate the effort.

Walking besides each other, they were almost a matched set. Both of slight build, each with a signature mass of black hair (though Yuki typically wore hers in a Kaze-esque braid, in contrast to Van's high ponytail), each moved with an easy grace that complemented the other. They'd had plenty of practice; over the preceding term they had become staunch friends. _Not like Kaze and I. Never like Kaze and I. But at least this way I nolonger constantly seek him in her, I nolonger flinch at her voice._

"You wanna spar at lunch? We've got a bit of extra time today because of the morning assembly."  
"I'd like that." Another reason they were beginning to be seen as a 'matched set' by most of the school; in Van, Yuki had found a boy whose enthusiasm for Kendo, if not his skill, equaled her own. And thanks to that enthusiasm, his skill was improving daily. They sparred regularly, above and beyond club training, and she had a sneaking suspicion he practiced on his own as well. On top of completing his homework. The model student. Yuki snorted softly. She wondered if he'd be a model student in other studies.

"Hey . . . Van?" her voice was hesitant.

"Yeah?"  
"I was thinking . . . I saw your name up on the list for stayers these hols. You'll be in town the whole time?"

"Yeah."  
"Well, my Shishou is coming over from Japan. Figures there's no point staying there since I'm here and now that Kaze's . . . Anyway, I told him a little about you, and he wants to meet you. Will you come?"

"Uh . . . I'm not really sure . . ." _Think, Robin, think! By "shishou" she almost certainly means her martial arts teacher. Could that blow my cover? I don't know anything about the teacher or his perceptive abilities, but I'll have to assume it could. But then, would refusing perjure my cover as well? what adolescent schoolboy wouldn't be curious and go?_  
"Please?"

". . . Okay."_ I'll play it by ear. With a bit of luck, all this will involve is a cup of tea and a chat. No martial arts, or at least if there is, limited to a discussion of Kendo._

In the end, he was right about the cup of tea. That, at least, was something.

It was still term-time when "Shishou" arrived. He then promptly set up camp in a purpose-built dojo in the Mireba industries main skyscraper. At least, Van assumed it was purpose-built. It certainly looked that way, and when he asked, Yuki confirmed it as they walked there after school to undertake Van's visit. Surveying the set-up, Van's alertness, and his suspicion, went up another notch. _An instructor employed by the family, from what Yuki said. A retainer. Must be pretty highly valued to have this sort of set-up built for him on the off-chance he would come over to America at some point. _ His anxiety increased. _This Shishou, whoever he is, must be someone exceptional. And someone who values his privacy, given that there's no mention of him anywhere in the Crays or any other computer network I've managed to access._

Taking the elevator into the building, Van's sense of foreboding grew, _this place is like a fortress!_ More accurately, he realized, the dojo area and it's access was well fortified, the rest simply as strongly secure as any average skyscraper; less so than the Waynetech building. Before he could fully puzzle out the implications of this, Yuki led him into a large, dimly-lit room . . .

. . . and left him there with only a short "I'll be back soon."

She'd barely slid the door shut behind him when a metal whip lashed out of the darkness.

It carved a glistening trail through the air - and Van's shirt. Van himself was nolonger there. Ducking and weaving, he avoided the murderous lash, barely having time enough to be thankful he and Yuki had swapped their uniforms for looser, more flexible streetclothes before coming.

Whoever was using the blade-like whip went beyond expert and into the realm of artistry. And, Van realized as the line of leather and razors sliced through the air where he'd been standing only seconds earlier, they weren't trying to kill him. _If this whip-person wanted me dead, I would be a corpse. _

He came to that realization the same time that a low, hoarse voice growled a single word into the darkness.

"Enough."

Gradually, as the room brightened slightly and his eyes adjusted, Van noted there was a low dais at the end of the room. On it were two figures. One, seated, was what appeared to be a man in his early thirties, tall, though obviously oriental, with a narrow face and prominent cheekbones. Features that should have clashed with the long, straight cascade of red-gold hair springing from his head, but instead served to complement it. Any illusions of youth, though, were shattered when Van looked into his eyes. They were old eyes, wise and iridescent, and they stripped him to his core. At the same time the long nose beneath those eyes sniffed the air, evaluating scent. Evaluating him. Van felt his soul laid bare under the twin onslaught.

Forcing his eyes away from the man's took a supreme act of will, one which Van accomplished only with difficulty. Gazing at the second figure, Van missed the widening of the man's gaze, the only outward sign of his surprise at the boy's ability to break the contact. By this stage, of course, Van's attention was utterly captivated by the ageless man's companion.

She was radiant. There was no other way to describe it. Her features, though not classically beautiful in any sense of the word, shone handsome with the strength of her personality. She stood tall, her height accentuated by her willowy figure. A figure amply displayed by the tight, dark clothing she wore. Her hair, as silver-dark as her companion's was gold-red, was pulled back into a long braid. As Van watched, she slid from an offensive stance to one of parade-ground precision, the whip she had been so easily swinging slipping into a metal belt around her waist. He did not mirror her now-relaxed posture.

Somewhere, somehow, Van found enough of his voice to produce a single word.  
"Why?"

The man chuckled, bringing Van's attention back to him.

"Because we could. Because Yuki-dono's descriptions made us curious. Rightly so, it seems." He gestured peremptorily at Van's now-bare chest, "the marks on your chest and arms are as those Kaze-dono's body. The marks on your back go beyond similarity. The mark on your temple. . . Let us simply say you survived that which Kaze-dono did not."

Van was in turmoil. Obviously the man had somehow managed to get into the morgue and examine Kaze's corpse without either the police or, more tellingly, Oracle knowing. _I was right! He is someone exceptional! And beyond that, capable enough to see the . . . torture scars. . . on my chest and the perepheral programming scars on my back and arms, all while I'm moving rapidly in a dimly lit room._ _Doesn't look like he used starlight lenses either. Interesting. Hopefully not fatal._ He was, he knew, more than a little at their mercy. Now, the pressing question was what he - and they - would do about it.

Once again, he found his voice.

"So. What happens next?"

"Now, little one, training begins."

Seemingly from nowhere the woman produced a black long sleeve shirt and tossed it to him. Van caught it in one hand, still in his defensive stance. Searchingly, he examined first her face, and then the man's. A long moment later, he dropped the stance and slipped the shirt over his head. Truce accepted.

From the recesses of the room, the man produced a daisho - a set of two swords, one shorter than the other. _Kodachi and katana,_ Van recognized. Carefully, he showed Van how to put on the long sash he also provided, and how to slip the daisho in. Van paid close attention. He had the feeling he'd only be shown once.

By the time that was organized, the woman had left, all without saying a word. The man noticed Van's glance towards the dais and chuckled again.

"Kaguya-dono has gone to train Yuki-dono. I will undertake your training personally."

The man - or not-quite man - as Van was beginning to think of him, worked him hard all that afternoon and into the evening. The training was as strenuous as anything he'd encountered in the cave, and equally as fascinating. In that short time the shishou began to teach him the basics of bladework, a deadly - yet stunningly beautiful - dance of steel and spirit, similar, yet also radically different, from the Kendo he practiced with Yuki. Remarkably, the shishou seemed to know exactly when to pause to keep Van from excessive fatigue, timing the short 'breaks' with more skill than even Batman. _At this rate I'll still be good for something when I go on patrol tonight._ A glance at his teacher's iridescent eyes convinced Van the other man knew the content, if not the specifics, of what he was thinking. Disturbed, he hastily looked away.

Equally as disturbing was the amount of "assumed knowledge" the shishou expected him to have. Van found it no-little disquieting that he had all that was required and more. _The Doctor's programming has a lot to answer for. Hn. I wonder if he incorporated bits of Kaze's pre-programming skills and training into my martial-arts program? It would certainly explain a lot._ Then, as the next set of grueling exercises began, he had no more time for thought.

It was a while later that a sweaty, happy Yuki collected an equally sweaty Van for the walk back to Bryleaf. The two left in good time for dinner, though not before Van had been given a training schedule by the ever-silent Kaguya and summarily told to return the following day.

"It's good that Shishou likes you," Yuki chirped happily, "and training together in ninjutsu will be even more fun than Kendo! So, what did he start you on? flexibility? kata?"  
"When you started, what was the first thing you learned?"

"Me? Oh, Kaze and I started with basic exercises - y'know to get our limbs to do the right stuff at the right time. Reflex training, I guess."

Van was careful not to let on the concern her statements caused in him. _I was right. He's figured it out. Figured out that I already have all those basic skills. I only hope he puts it down to me getting the same programming as Kaze, and doesn't realise there's more to it. Hn. But he's sharp, that not-man. Very sharp._

"You look worried. I - I'm sorry."  
"No - it's nothing, really."

"It's not nothing. I can tell. But I won't ask, because it isn't my place. Because everyone has secrets." She smiled at him then, a sunny, cheerful grin that lifted her face from merely pretty to dazzling. Van could not help but smile back.

He was a little surprised when she laughed delightedly.

"There. See? Your smile - it was a little warmer than normal! A little less like it was covering all your hurt. Hah! I knew it!"  
"Knew what?" Van asked, feeling foolishly self-conscious.

"Your smile - it still doesn't reach your eyes yet, but it's creeping closer! It really is a work in progress!"

AT THE DOJO

The room was silent, echoingly so. On the dais the two figures of the shishou and Kaguya knelt. They moved sparingly, sipping tea from beautifully simple pottery cups.

Though no-one would have guessed it from the stillness of the chamber, a lively discussion was taking place. No-one, that is, with the possible exception of Jonn Jonn'z, for the two were conversing entirely mind to mind.

_:There is more to him than simply a shared ordeal. I can smell it.:_ Moodily, the Shishou sipped at his tea. _:Are you sure you want him trained like this? like one of us?:_

The woman was calm as she poured more tea, at odds with the passion in her mind-voice. _:Yes. I'm sure. When we visited the morgue and I rewound Kaze's memories from his corpse, this boy, Van, figured prominently in them. As someone Kaze wanted to protect, and help. As someone who had protected and helped him. Maybe more.:_ She hesitated momentarily, then, _:I do not know what this 'Ro-kun' pseudonym business means, nor do I particularly care. But I do know this; before he escaped to seek help, Kaze bound it to the boy._ _He nolonger remembered us, nolonger remembered his family or Yuki, and nolonger really understood what it was that he was the carrier - and protector - of. He certainly nolonger knew it could act as a beacon to summon us, and with us the aid he so desperately sought. But even though he'd lost all that to the Doctor's 'ministrations' he knew that it itself was a protection of sorts, though he nolonger knew why it conferred that protection. In some small way he still understood that, and He Chose To Give That Protection To Van.:_ She enunciated each word carefully, emphasising her point.

_:That Van is now the bearer of it is reason enough for me to protect him. That Kaze voluntarily gave him it to protect him should be reason enough for you, my friend.:_

Silently, her tea companion mulled over that thought.

_:You're right, of course. And the best way to ensure he stays safe is to make sure he can take care of himself. To train him.:  
:To train him as you would one of our family. For, really, that is what he is. Whether he wants it or not, that is what Kaze made him. Now, for Kaze, and for us, we must make that inheritance mean something:_

_:As you wish, Hime-sama.:  
:Don't call me that. Ever. Even mind to mind. I have a name and I want you to use it.:_ Looking up, she softened slightly, smiling at him, _:after all, here is not like home.: _The shishou's response to her ire was neither verbal nor mental, simply a slight lifting of the corners of his mouth.

They passed a few more minutes in congenial silence, each savoring the last of their tea. When it was gone, the shishou reached a hand up to his hair and pulled the long locks free of the half-falling arrangement they'd been bound into.

_:A pure human student. To teach with swords and cunning and mischief and whatever else I choose. To render safe from both our kind and humans, who are usually worse. This:_ He thought, allowing pointed ears to poke from their hiding-spot under his hair, _:is going to be such fun!:_ Fangs teased the sudden grin that sharpened his features, a grin mirrored by his counterpart.

END PART TWO

Notes:

Dono see previous notes for details, otherwise, simply a polite form of address.

Hime-sama Princess.


	3. Part 3

WIND AND THE SNOW part III

Disclaimer: DC characters are not mine. No profit.

The days leading up to Robin's holiday were full; school in the mornings and afternoons, training with the shishou in the evenings, patrol at night. During this time, Van became aware of a number of things about his teachers, particularly the one he was coming to consider his master. Firstly, though both Kaze and Yuki had mentioned training in ninjutsu, it was abundantly clear that this, while not the least of their skills, was not the most prominent of Kaguya and the Shishou's abilities.

The pair were martial artists in a manner that Robin could only liken to others of the bat-family, or even the half-remembered Shiva; their expertise was widespread, their techniques fluid, the product of many years training. Training they lavished on their two pupils, though not, as Robin discovered, unstintingly.

Deliberately casual conversation with Yuki revealed a training regimen vastly different from his own, and, likely, from Kaze's. While both the cousins had been trained extensively in ninjutsu, using both unarmed techniques and a variety of smaller weapons, Yuki had then gone on to the _Naginata_, a long spear-like weapon, under Kaguya's tutelage. Van discovered, somewhat to his surprise, that she hadn't objected to this in the slightest, nor sought to train with the Katana.

"Kendo and live blade work are wildly different. I know it seems like they shouldn't be, but they are. I love playing kendo, but I don't want to use a sword like that. I never did. Kendo's a sport to me, and will remain so. I didn't . . . when Kaze was . . . here . . . I didn't want to be in a position where I'd have to compete with him in something so . . . lethal, I guess. I mean, ninjustu is a lethal martial art, too, but . . . y'know." Yuki had sighed, frustrated with her percieved inarticulateness.

Van had understood utterly.

Yuki's annoyance had had to be worked off with a strenuous round of the aformentioned kendo, before she got around to enquiring after Van's training. His non-commital answer had convinced her he was still just starting the basic ninjutsu katas that had been a martial arts grounding for both her and Kaze. Van opted not to disabuse her of the notion.

_Now I know that some of Kaze's ninjutsu training went into my perepheral programming at the hands of the Doctor. There's no way I'd be at this level otherwise, no way I'd know enough and be good enough in the ninjutsu basics for Shishou to start me straight on bladework. 'Basics'. Heh. Full mastery of Ninjutsu is still only the'basics' for further training._

_Strange. Though I know the Mireba family have been master Ninjas for centuries, the more extensive weapon-work seems to be a much more recent addition to their education. As recent as a generation or two, maybe three. Hn. I wonder if that's how long the shishou and Kaguya have been assosciated with this family. Doesn't seem likely, given how young they look._ Abandoning that line of thought, Van set it in the back of his mind to allow his subconscious to chew at it for a while.

_Kaze, I guess it's no wonder you didn't tell me about your Kenjitsu training; given that the Doctor thought long weapons useless to the creatures he wanted to create, he would have taken the memory of those skills away from you. The memory of how you trained for those skills, the training I'm recieving now. Oh, Kaze, I have more of you with me than I ever dreamed!_ The thought comforted him as he stripped off the Robin costume and slid into the exhausted, dreamless slumber that passed for his early mornings.

The end of the month came with such rapidity it caught Van and Yuki almost unawares. As it turned out, the start of the holidays saw neither of their names on the 'stayers' list at Bryleaf. Instead they moved into rooms at the Mireba skyscraper, and training, while already in earnest, became substantially more intense.

However, as Van's nights were free for an entire two weeks (what with him being officially in Metropolis), the amount of sleep he got compensated more than adequately. And, in the end, compensated more than was desirable . . .

He awoke screaming. An echoing shout that, due to the soundproofing of all the bedrooms in the skyscraper, should have alerted no-one to his distress. Not that Van cared in the slightest.

Shaking in terror, still half asleep and fully disoriented in the only semi-familiar surroundings, Van staggered for the door. Fumbling hands thrust it open, and he lurched into the corridor. _Escape! Must escape! Kaze?! Kaze, where are you?! _Harshly lit, the hallway bore sufficient resemblance to the corridors of the Doctor's facility to send Van spiralling further into nightmare.

"Escape. . . Survive. . . Where are you, Kaze? Kaze, we have to . . ." Nearly blind with terror, Van stumbled, would have fallen . . .

Strong hands grabbed him, held him upright. For a minute they seemed so like Kaze's hands. So safe. Van relaxed, and so too did the hands.

"Kaze?" Looking up, he realised his mistake. _Red hair? Kaze has black!_ Panic sent him thrusting away from the figure, into a swaying defensive stance.

"No more," Van shouted deleriously, "I won't let you hurt Kaze or me anymore! Kaze! Where is he? What have you done to him?! Kaze!" Wildly he swung at the figure, who parried easily. Blow after blow he rained down, fighting as hard as he ever had, though not quite as skillfully. Sobbing with terror and loss, he kicked and jabbed.

The figure evaded each strike, voice never wavering from calm, gentle tones as it spoke to him, soothed him. Finally, the owner of that voice took the offensive.

In an instant, Van found himself slapped into consciousness. An instant later, he slumped to the floor.

A moment after that, the same strong arms of earlier wrapped themselves around him, the same strong voice, calm and assuring, murmured simply "Daijobu. Just cry it out. Daijobu." Finally hearing the message imparted by the words, Van surrendered to it, sobbing his heart out as the voice crooned a gentle, wordless song. The same tune Kaze had always hummed, when he'd held and comforted Van, after one of the Doctor's 'sessions'.

The shishou held his latest pupil as the small figure sobbed, and his heart wept with the boy. _Kaze, you are missed, my student. Greatly missed._ When the boy's hiccuping moans slowed to the gentle breathing of sleep, Kaguya appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and softly approached the pair.

As always, she said nothing. Noting the death-grip clutch Van had on his master's shirt, she simply wrapped a blanket around the boy and the shishou, leaving the pair sitting in the hallway, Van sprawled into the older man's lap.

It was the early hours of the morning when Van awoke again. This time, he awoke calmly, from a gentle dream where Kaze had been holding him, singing to him softly that same song over and over. A dream where the Doctor was far, far away. Too far to hurt either of them.

Turning sleepily, secure in the arms that protected him, the boy gave a brilliant smile.

"Kaze," he murmured.

The shishou winced. _Yuki-dono, you were right and wrong. His smile is a 'work in progress', but there's also a perfected variant. And it will never belong to you, no matter how you might wish it. It has already been gifted to the dead._

The smile vanished as the boy opened his eyes and saw who it was that was holding him. Those eyes, a warm azure, widened as they traved up the face, up to - _oh blast! _- his ears. Ears which were substantially larger, pointy-er, and furrier than a humans. Tensing, the shishou prepared himself for another round of screams.

"Oh," his student simply said, "that explains a lot." Pulling himself out of the suddenly lax arms that held him, Van wandered off in search of a shower, leaving behind a bemused (and relieved) shishou. _Will that boy ever cease to surprise me?_

Standing under the hot water, Van relaxed as it cascaded around his shoulders, washing off the last of the terror-sweat of the night before. _I wonder . . . Kaze, I really do wonder. I'm genuinely unfazed by my master's inhuman-ness. But should I be? Is this the 'me' that I promised you would survive, "in any way possible" or is it someone else? Have I really kept my promise? I already know 'Tim Drake' is dead, but what about 'Ro-kun'? Have I truly kept my promise to you? I wish you were here. I wish I could ask you . . .Ask you what I was like. . ._ Further plumbing of his fragmented memories yeilded a conversation with . . . Alfred? From before the Doctor? While he could not recall the precise wording of the conversation, the gist of it had been; "You are equally as concerned by demons and flying manbats as you are by normal adolescent issues. This school may well provide you with a grounding you need."

Robin pondered this, the shower pouring down on him. _If so, then maybe, just maybe, more of the'Tim Drake' me has survived than I thought. But either way, does this mean I kept my promise? Does it, Kaze? _With a start, Van realised that the water had run cold.

Nothing further was said, about either the ears (for which Robin gave his tacit approval by pretending he'd never seen them, at least, in company anyway) or about Van's familiarity with Kaze (the topic of which all parties simply avoided. Yuki because she didn't know about it. Van to protect what shreds remained of his secret I.D., though he was substantially less concerned about it now that he was familiar with the shishou and Kaguya, both of whom he deemed less likely to talk than, say, the Batman. Kaguya and the shishou left the issue alone because they had no need to broach it. They'd seen, in the memories Kaguya had rewound from Kaze's corpse, all they felt they needed to know. If Van chose to use their teachings and any other skills he had to roam around rooftops at night, well, he'd hardly be the first.)

Training contined at a break-neck pace for the rest of the holidays, and into the new term. Though nothing changed in terms of content, there was a new closeness between the four of them, especially between Van and the shishou. They became less like simply a group that trained together, and more like a family. It was a stability and support Robin nolonger had with the bat-gang. The fragile trust that Batman had shattered had fractured the family into fragments. Though increasingly close to Nightwing and Batgirl, Robin remained only distantly polite to Spoiler, a situation which infuriated her. Batman he treated like a commanding officer, a fact which would not have disturbed the Bat, had he not wondered constantly how Robin - Vingt - had behaved towards the Doctor, his tormentor. . .

Van hadn't known that 'family' was what he'd craved until he had it. Oddball as the set-up was (with only two members sharing even a species, let alone a gene pool), it was full of closeness and love, more so than Van's fragmented memories of his biological family. Kaguya and the shishou took pride in him and his acheivements, both physically and academically (when Yuki forced him to bring along a term paper he'd done well on, they'd been thrilled and since then the homework had flowed as freely as the katas.) Unlike his biological parents, they did not expect straight A's and take an interest only if these were not attained. Instead, they asked simply that he do his best, and were happy with whatever that 'best' produced. As a result, Van gave his utmost in everything, rather than just doing enough to produce the good-on-paper results his father had required. It was a happy, encouraging set-up, and precisely what he needed after his suffering at the hands of the Doctor.

Van's only regret was that Kaze wasn't with him to share it. It was a regret that ate at him, even as he acknowledged that his life was as close to idyllic as it was ever likely to get.

Unfortunately, he was uncannily accurate on that score.

"Young Justice?" Blue eyes, for once not masked, stared up at him in confusion.

"Yep. They're your team. The team you co-founded. Don't you remember?"

" . . . no. Not really."

It was the response Nightwing had secretly dreaded. Years of the Bat's stoicism training paid off, however, and he managed not to flinch. _He doesn't recall them. Even at the worst, I still had the Titans, or at least their memories and friendship to keep me sane. Damn you, Doctor! Every time I think we finally know all the things you did to him, every time I think he can finally start to heal, we find something like this! _The urge to go and pulverise the Doctor was overwhelming, though Nightwing nobly resisted it. Largely because the man was already long-dead, and the details of all that he'd done to Robin gone with him. His fists clenching slightly, Nightwing became aware that Robin hadn't finished speaking.

". . .However, I'm familiar with the dossiers on them in the Crays. Current data indicates they've been inactive for several months, ever since I . . . since the Doctor . . .Why the sudden interest?"

"Well, they're your team, and they want to meet up with you again now that you're back."  
". . ."

Nightwing frowned, and his voiced hardened. "You're going, Little Brother, if I have to drag you there myself."_Little Brother, how can I tell you you need this? You're turning into a fractured version of him._

". . ."  
"Besides, Superboy's been asking after you. A lot. Won't leave Cassandra alone."

"Superboy. I think I remember him."  
"Yeah?" Hope flared in Nightwing,_ maybe it's not as bad as I thought!_ only to be crushed by his little brother's next words.  
"He was on the roof . . . that night."

"Yes. Yes, he was." _This is going to be harder than I imagined. _"C'mon little brother, get your helmet on and let's go."  
"The bike? we get to take the bike?" The sudden enthusiasm in the younger boy's voice made Nightwing smile.

"Yeah, just as far as Bludhaven, though. Then we'll get kitted up and take the car."

"You're on!" Tying on the helmet and sliding into a leather jacket, Robin contemplated the situation. _Superboy. Superboy . . . I owe. Bigtime. I owe him my life, or part of it. At the very least I owe him an explanation. I don't really remember the others. I guess the Doctor had plenty of files on neurological patterns for super-teams and friendships. Enough to erase them thoroughly. Still, I seem to recall . . . a flying motorcycle?_ He was startled from his reverie by the harsh roar of the engine. A moment later, he was racing down the highway, exhiliaration flowing through him, on the bike behind his 'big brother'.

Racing towards a meeting with his past, and possibly his future.

There are any number of choices a person can make. Some change nothing, are insignificant in the grand scheme of a person's life. Others, when taken or avoided, alter the very fabric that life is cut from: A decision to go and see a Zorro film. A decision to spend the evening at the circus. A decision to open the front door without checking first who was there.

A decision to go with a brother and, for a night, leave a bedroom at a boarding school empty.

END part III. Part IV coming soon.

NOTES:

1. Feedback has indicated to me that there is some confusion over the shishou's and Kaguya's martial abilities. In this part I have endeavoured to clear this up. They are not purely ninja, though masters of the form. Instead, they are, like most of the bat-gang and many other superheroes, proficient in a number of styles and methods, and use that which is appropriate to the situation. I made the mistake of assuming this was apparent when I armed Kaguya with a razor whip and set the shishou to teaching Van the intricacies of blade work. I apologise for any misunderstandings, and once again cheerfully request feedback; without it I don't know about these problems to fix them.

2. Naginata a long handled weapon. Vaguely like a spear, only not, really. Used by women of the Samurai class for a number of centuries, to enable them to protect their honour and their children, etc.

3. The paraphrased conversation with Alfred did indeed occur in the Robin comics (don't know the issue number off the top of my head, unfortunately), but it did so in canon after the great betrayal. However, it is too stunningly convenient for me not to use it, so for the purposes of this fic, it's been temporally relocated to before the betrayal. Ah, I love AU rules!


	4. part 4

Wind and the Snow Part IV   
  
Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer applies: the characters portrayed herein belong, with the exception of my original characters, to DC, Warner Bros, and whoever else. Not me. I am making no profit from this fic, now or ever. Don't bother suing, it'd be a waste of time and money.   
  
Author's Notes: Sorry this part took so long. I got a bit sidetracked (always lots of fun). This part was written largely with track 3 from Second Donut Happy Pack on repeat. The first chunk penned (typed?) before I'd seen the requisite episode, the second bit after. You Have Been Warned.   
2. A very big 'thank you' to the reader who pointed out that part IV hadn't loaded properly. My humble apologies. Due to some technical difficulties, I am uploading this part in text format. When The html thing gets sorted, I'll reload, but until then I ask for your tolerance.   
3. *..* = emphasis, ** . . .** = thoughts   
  
********   
"Gone?"   
  
"Yes, sir. He wasn't in his room or anywhere on the grounds."   
  
The Demon paced. His followers shivered.   
  
Creating a decent team of suitably fanatical henchmen took time. And resources. Further, said henchmen's intelligence and abilities tended to be directly proportional to the amounts of both time and resources expended upon them. Having lived for centuries, Ra's Al Ghul was too prudent, too experienced, to wantonly destroy the highly skilled followers he'd assembled. At least, not at the moment. At the moment he was as close to sane as he ever really got. He'd not used the Lazarus pit for a while, was not due to return to it for some time. So, his people were safe from the mindless carnage that typically followed a dip in the pit.   
  
But that didn't mean they could relax, either. The mass destruction could be conducted just as efficiently with the Demon in a 'sane' frame of mind. And given how displeased he was with the news they'd brought, it was not an unforeseeable outcome of the evening. That they still breathed now was due, they knew, to the fact that they'd obtained one of the two targets. But the other, equally desired, had eluded them by the simple virtue of not being present. Hence the Demon's displeasure. So they shivered, and hoped that he would recall that for all their skills in the area, it was still impossible to abduct someone who wasn't anywhere near where they were meant to be. Hoped he would recall the fact, hoped he would accept it.   
  
And thought desperately of other ways to please their pacing master.   
  
The Demon spoke, as much to himself as to anyone present. "We have the other, though. That will be enough." He paused, "for the time being, at least." Turning, his attention shifted away from the kidnappers. As that group relaxed slightly, the one next to it tensed. Ra's Al Ghul's scientists, though more highly prized than his "acquisitions" team, were nonetheless acutely aware that they, too, were replaceable. It was all a matter of resources. Resources and time. Both of which, they well knew, the Demon had in abundance. It was patience that was occasionally in short supply.   
"Report."   
"The data you obtained - I don't know how you got it, but it's amazing! Why, it's a whole personality! We can indeed implant it in to the . . . ah . . . subject you acquired. Except. . . ah . . ."   
Ra's Al Ghul raised one fletched eyebrow and the scientist stuttered into silence.   
"Except?"   
Staring at his Master, the scientist who had spoken drew a deep breath, wishing he'd never even *thought* of pursuing a career in neurophysiology.   
"We, ah, we don't know what he did!" The words came in a blurted rush, "I mean, we know what he did, we know he erased very specific memories and other parts of his subjects' minds and then implanted new personalities and skills, but we don't know how. We don't even know what technology he used to do it. We, ah, we can't replicate it. Well, not precisely anyway." His run of words petered out, and he trembled under the Demon's baleful glare.   
"But. . . but. . . what we *can* do is a bit similar, though a lot cruder. We can induce an amnesia in the subject. It'll be total. No 'retained useful bits of information' like the Doctor had. After that bit, though, we can overlay the new memory, the one mapped in the computer programme. It won't be a perfect replica of this 'eighteen' character, but it'll be pretty close. Near as we can tell, the memory map we have anyway is of the last stage prior to the finished product, so not the . . . ah . . . planned end-personality itself anyway. Because the subject that was obtained from the two candidates considered is quite a martial artist anyway, hopefully it'll still work out more or less equally."   
"How long will the amnesia hold?"   
"We . . . ah . . . we aren't completely sure. We'll try for permanency, but even if we don't get that far, it'll certainly be long enough for us to figure out how the Doctor did . . . what he did." **At least, I fervently hope so,** the scientist thought, using all his discipline not to wipe suddenly clammy hands on his pants. "Then, we'll implement what we've learned on the second subject, whom we will hopefully have by that time." The ploy was as much an attempt to deflect Ra's Al Ghul's displeasure back to the acquisitions team as it was to convey scientific practice. **In truth, I doubt we'll be able to replicate the Doctor's technology. It'll be downright miraculous if we have some means of doing even part of it. It'd also be downright suicidal to tell him that, though.** In front of him, the Demon's pacing ceased.   
"When can you have the subject ready?" His voice brooked no mercy. Though not precisely rhetorical, to this question there was only one correct answer, and it was 'soon'.   
"In . . . ah . . . in twenty four hours or so. The upshot of this way of doing things; because it's cruder, it doesn't take anywhere near as long." The scientist held his breath; one way or another, his master's next words would seal his fate.   
"Very well. You have twenty-four hours." A nervous bow, and the thin, weedy man blended back into the group of now relieved scientists.   
  
After the debriefing, Ra's Al Ghul strode down the shadowy corridors of his headquarters. Lost in thought, he nonetheless noticed when a gait as familiar as his own fell into step beside him. Looking over, a rare tolerant smile graced his lips as he regarded his daughter.   
"You have news?"   
"An update. We still have not found the missing Twenty, Father. However, we have narrowed the search considerably; after finishing the neuronal implants and reprogramming, the Doctor decided to test his prize."   
"An assassination?"   
"An attempt. To make a statement the Doctor chose a . . . truly remarkable target. He sent Twenty to Gotham."   
"The Detective. However he yet lives."   
"Precisely. So either the attempt failed, or the assassin has not yet tried."   
"We will find Twenty in Gotham."   
"I have teams of men there already, Father. Searching." **And I pray I find him before he kills you, beloved. Because, as this data makes abundantly clear to me, kill you he certainly can.**   
**************   
ELSEWHERE   
On reflection, Nightwing decided, having the Young Justice reunion at Titan's Tower had been a spectacularly bad idea.   
He'd thought the place to be ideal; Robin and the others had been there only rarely, so his little brother wouldn't feel too threatened by unfamiliarity in an environment obviously comfortable to the rest of his team (it was unlikely, Nightwing felt, that Robin remembered much of the Justice Cave). Further, the tower was pretty much neutral turf and, as it's resident hero team largely lived elsewhere, it would be only skeletally staffed at the time, and even then by the more . . . understanding members of the Titan's team, Donna and Roy, allowing the teens plenty of space to run wild. Which, unfortunately, was exactly what Robin had done.   
**At the very least,** Nightwing berated himself, **I should have made sure Robin actually remembered something of the Titans we were likely to meet. Before he put a batarang into Troia's wrist and a fist into Arsenal's face.** In between attempting to explain the situation to an irate Arsenal, Nightwing mentally tried to put a positive spin on the incident; **at least I have Robin's assurance Donna'll get full sensation back. Eventually. It occurs to me, however, that he didn't retract the death threat. Hn. That worries me.**   
**Dammit, I should have checked what he knew about the Titans! He didn't even remember Young Justice, and the Crays files aren't as great on people's personality quirks as they are on just superpower inventories, so the assumption was an unforgivable oversight!**   
Had the former boy wonder been honest with himself - and fully conversant with the facts of the situation - he'd have realised that oversight or not, it likely would have happened anyway.   
****************   
SOMEWHAT EARLIER THAT DAY   
They'd arrived, in costume (after a pit stop at a certain Bludhaven apartment), to quite the welcoming committee. Robin, seated next to him on the boat across to the tower, hadn't seemed nervous, but neither had he looked excited. **All part of the 'programming', I guess. Learning how to squish your feelings utterly. I've seen him show little emotion since he returned. Even Batman could almost take stoicism lessons from him now. Damn you, Doctor! I want my little brother back, whole and well!** As they approached the shore, Nightwing got ready to disembark, Robin following his lead. **Well, I guess that's what this meeting is really for,** he thought. **To help 'little brother' heal. If it works, I'll buy Superboy every season of Wendy Werewolf Stalker on DVD, and count it a cheap price to pay.** Thoughts of his co-conspirator were interrupted as the boat docked at the jetty.   
Stepping off the boat, they were greeted by a moderately sized group, lead by the aforementioned co-conspirator in organising the reunion, a beaming Superboy. Close behind him, with a grin equally as wide, was a mist-girl Nightwing tried pointedly to ignore. **If nobody officially sees her, then she isn't here, and the DEO can't hassle either her or the Titans.** Bouncing around so rapidly that there appeared to be six of him was Impulse, and near to him Empress and Wondergirl. The current Olympic archer and former Arrowette would be waiting inside the tower, as Nightwing understood it, to protect her former identity from the prying eyes of any unexpected visitors.   
**Moment Of Truth time!** Nightwing held his breath, **I sure hope this works!** Robin strode to a standstill beside him, his face expressionless. Obviously unsure of themselves in the face of their leader's impassivity, the rest of Young Justice paused, waiting to see who would break the stalemate.   
Then, a small smile cracked Robin's features, and he extended a hand to Superboy.   
"Hi," he said, simply. Superboy took the hand to shake it, and then unexpectedly pulled the Boy Wonder into a fierce embrace.   
"Welcome back, Rob. We missed ya!"   
As if that was the catalyst, everyone started talking at once, crowding around the Boy Wonder in an oversized group hug.   
"you'rebackyou'rebackyou'reback!Wheredidyougowithoutus?huhuhuhuhuh?   
Wemissedyou!it'ssogoodtoseeyouandnowwecanhavearealteamagainandit'llbesomuchfunandandand. . ."   
"Robin! I'm so glad you're safe! I was so worried -"   
"- thought we'd, like, lost you for good -"   
"- couldn't find you anywhere, even using vooduin -"   
"lookedandlookedandlookedalloverwellexceptGothamcozweknewyoucouldn'tbetherewithoutBatmanfindingyou. . . "   
"- didn't tell us! We weren't even like totally sure you were missing until -"   
"- promised I wouldn't be evil if you'd just come back -"   
As the confused babble of voices washed over him, Robin searched desperately for any trace of memory of these people. Nothing was forthcoming. The Doctor did his job well, Robin thought bitterly, as his mind turned up only the dry words of the Crays files. Name: Superboy. Secret Identity: Kon-el. Base of Operations: Hawaii. Powers: tactile telekinesis. Weaknesses: Kryptonite. Name: Wondergirl. Secret Identity . . . .The listings went on.   
He could recognise all of them, with the exception of the mist girl. But the ID photos on file bore only a superficial likeness to the people before him. They could do little more, really; a static shot would never contain the restless, enthusiastic energy of Impulse, the sparkling happiness and dramatic gestures of Superboy, or the leonine grace of Empress.   
His mind tracked back to the mist girl. There was no spark of recognition in him at all. **Not even a Crays file on her. Surprising.** Turning to her, he opened his mouth to speak, acutely aware of how the others all hushed. Well, except Impulse.   
"The others I recognise from their files, but who are you?"   
Even Impulse shut up at that one. The silence was absolute, and deafening after the babble of mere seconds before. Of all the things Young Justice had expected to hear fall from their newly-returned leader's lips, this was *not* one them. Secret's sudden hiccoughing sobs broke the quiet.   
"You . . . You don't remember her? And what's this about files? Hold on - do you, like, even remember the rest of us?" The pain in Wondergirl's voice was evident, as was the fact she, too, was biting back tears.   
Superboy and Nightwing spoke, for the first time in their lives, almost simultaneously.   
"Come on, let's get inside and discuss this properly."   
It was a good idea, unfortunately they never quite got that far.   
  
From their vantage points at the base of the tower, Donna and Roy - Troia and Arsenal - watched the happy-looking group. As the group hug finally broke up, Troia turned to her ex-lover and smilingly nudged him along with her.   
"Come on," she laughed, "let's go say 'hi' before we leave them alone to trash - and then frantically clean up - the place!"   
Laughing indulgently, Arsenal followed her lead and the two strolled down the gentle slope to the jetty.   
They, too, never quite got that far.   
  
The arrival of the two visitors was sudden. One moment there were only the two groups on the island, the next instant - quite literally - a third had arrived midway between the two others.   
This group consisted of only two figures, male and female. Tall, long-haired and lithe, their stances were utterly non-threatening. It was obvious, also from the way they moved, that while they were no strangers to battle, it was not on their current agenda. With a resounding war cry, Troia charged them.   
"Demon!" She yowled, her Olympus given senses shrilling the alarm. Of the two figures, one was definitely a hated resident from the Demon Planes, the other . . .   
The other she couldn't tell. But it had come with the demon and so must, she decided, be in league with it. **Demons. I hate Demons!** Taking his cue from her, Arsenal raced after her, knocking an arrow to his bow as he ran. Taking careful aim despite moving at a sprint, he raised the bow to sight on the darker-haired of his opponents . . .   
Only to run face-first into a green-gloved fist coming the other way.   
Nobody had seen him move. Not even Impulse (who, to be honest, hadn't really been paying attention). He simply was suddenly there, kayoing Arsenal and then continuing the liquid smooth movement into a spinning leap that landed him in front of the battle-hungry Amazon. As he flipped, Robin flung out a batarang, striking with uncanny precision into the soft gap of flesh just above Troia's gauntlets, numbing the nerve there. Dropping to the ground in shock, she and Arsenal stared at this most unexpected of opponents.   
"Robin! He's a demon! Get away from him now!" Troia yelled, distressed.   
"No."   
"What?!"   
"C'mon Troia, looks like we gotta go save the kid from himself!" With that Arsenal hauled himself to his feet, intent on 'saving' his best friend's 'kid brother'. After all, if *Donna* said the two were demons, and attacked straight away, who was he to argue?   
He was stopped by a harsh, cawing sound. It took him a moment to identify it as a laugh, and even longer to realise where it was coming from.   
Robin's mirthless amusement ceased as abruptly as it had started.   
"Save me? Only now? Your hypocrisy makes me sick!" His voice lowered venomously, until it was almost a sibilant whisper. "The two of you had your chance! You could have rescued me, saved both of us! One life, two souls. You chose not to."   
"Robin?" it was Donna, trying desperately to make sense of a world gone suddenly crazy. She may have failed in helping people in the past, but this was the first time she'd been accused of lack of trying, and by a fellow hero no less. "Robin, what are you talking about?"   
Shocked into speechlessness, Robin could only stare, **she doesn't remember? Kaze's pleas for help meant so little to her that she's already forgotten? I saw Oracle's tape! Kaze all but begged on his knees for their assistance!** Getting no reply except a wounded glare, Donna gamely tried again.   
"Robin, please, we can talk this out. But first you have to move away from the Demon! Just let me take him down and we'll talk."   
The glare turned vicious, and when Robin spoke it was with a quiet, deadly voice frighteningly reminiscent - to Superboy and Nightwing - of the assassin Vingt.   
"If you attempt to harm my master, or his lady, I will see to it you are destroyed so utterly that not even a speedster's memories will save you." There was no threat in his tone. It was, simply, a promise.   
Taken aback at the venom in his voice, Troia could only stare as the small figure of Robin turned his back on her and walked over to the demon he had named his master. Off to one side she could hear the sharp intake of breath from Nightwing, as well as his whispered question, " 'Master'?"   
It was at that moment that the other members of Young Justice, no longer paralysed by horror and surprise at the unexpected turn of events, chose haphazardly to enter the fray.   
They were a moment too late. With a sweep of her arm, the demon's dark-haired companion raised a shimmering dome-like shield, trapping the young heroes on the outside, and Robin within. Fists pounding uselessly on the translucent barrier, Superboy and the others could just make out the three figures within, apparently engaged in conversation. Then the smallest, slightest figure, the one they knew to be Robin, collapsed into the arms of one of the taller ones as the second plunged two fingers through his Kevlar vest and into his chest.   
That was when all hell broke loose.   
  
END PART IV. Part V coming soon.   
  
Notes:   
1.Wendy Werewolf Stalker is a popular show in the DC-verse, and Superboy's favourite. Gee, I can't think what it could be based on.   
2.The speedster Robin refers to is the Flash, from whose memories the current Donna Troy was resurrected.   
3.Donna's intense dislike of demons, and even her use of the line "Demons. I hate Demons!" is taken from the Planet DC 2000 Titans annual, titled "Japan's newest son: Bushido"   
4.Yep. You guessed it. the shishou is a demon (of sorts) and Kaguya isn't. Further explanation will be forthcoming in the next instalment. (Now that I've laid to rest all those Elf rumours. . .) This is not without precedent in the Batbooks - I refer interested parties to the start of the Brentwood story arc/Robin's first room-mate in the Robin comics.   
5."One life, two souls." Robin is referring to the fact that he is, for want of a better phrase, utterly altered, as was Kaze. The life in question is Kaze's who died in Gotham some time after Troia and Arsenal turned down his request for help. (The fact that he clobbered Arsenal **might** have had a little bit to do with it, but I doubt Robin's thinking along those lines.)   
6.The canon line-up of Young Justice has, I know, undergone a number of changes of late. However I'm opting to go with the team that was present when the great betrayal occurred. Minus Lobo, because I can't imagine he'd stick around for eleven months if nothing interesting was happening. (The team's been inactive since shortly after Robin disappeared.)   
7.As always, homage is intended, copyright infringement is not. Please C&C.   
************   
The conversation had indeed been an odd one, though the violence was unexpected. 


	5. part 5

Wind and the Snow Part V  
  
by Nikoru-chan  
  
Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer applies: the characters portrayed herein belong, with the exception of my original characters, to DC, Warner Bros, and whoever else. Not me. I am making no profit from this fic, now or ever. Don't bother suing, it'd be a waste of time and money.  
  
  
Author's notes: Sorry this chunk took so long. Real Life (or as close to it as scholastic pursuits combined with major technological difficulties ever get) intruded into my fic-writing time. I know, I know, most impolite of it. At any rate, a great big 'thank you' goes to all those people who sent comments on the story thus far, and thanks for waiting (more or less) patiently for this part. Incidentally, in light of the more extensive involvement of Young Justice, I've attempted a small amount of humour. Unfortunately, I'm no Peter David, so blink and you'll miss it. As always, I'd really, really love some C&C. **hopeful, puppy-dog eyes**  
  
**...** = thoughts (would be italics if I could get my coding to work)  
*...* = emphasis + thoughts not shared. Hopefully it'll be fairly obvious which is which.   
  
  
  
  
The conversation had indeed been an odd one, though the violence was unexpected. Not by the observers, panicking in their impotence, but by those engaging in said conversation.  
  
It was, Robin realised, the first time Kaguya had ever addressed him directly.  
  
As she spoke with him mind to mind, he could see why.   
  
It was very nearly overwhelming. Only the certain sense that, like J'onn J'onzz, she was restraining nearly all of her mighty mind to keep him safe allowed him to cope. Only the fact that the sensation was vastly different from the Doctor's intrusions, and imbued with a warmth and caring distinctly lacking from the Doctor's mental probes, kept him from running away screaming.  
  
After the initial shock of first contact, the content of what Kaguya was conveying registered. Then, the sensations of mental linkage seemed unimportant. Then, Robin had other things to worry about.  
  
**Little Bird, oh little one, I'm so sorry about this!** Kaguya's distress, sharp-flavoured, echoed in his mind. **I've made trouble for you with your compatriots, your friends. Please believe me, though, when I swear that my need is dire.   
  
**Yuki is gone.** At the three, simple mental words, Robin felt his blood run cold. Summoning all his considerable discipline, he responded, his reply flying as quickly as thought.  
  
**How? To where? By whom?** Fear, fear of the Doctor, or rather the remnants of his Organisation, coloured his thoughts with swift anxiety.  
  
**We do not know. We cannot track her, at least not from here.**   
  
Quick as ever on the uptake, Robin realised that Kaguya had not come in despair, but with a plan.  
  
**From where can you track her, then? How do I help?**  
  
**To find her, I shall need to go home, back to my Plane of existence.** In a complicated thought-burst, she forestalled his inquiry, sending him all the information he needed, and more besides.  
  
Kaguya, as Robin had long since surmised, was not human. Rather, she was an entity, a princess if you will, from the Celestial Plane. Coming to earth 'a short while ago' - several centuries by human reckoning - she had indulged in a number of adventures, more recently including the rescue from some rather unscrupulous humans of a by-then somewhat bedraggled six-tailed fox demon - a Kitsune - who (unlike Kaguya herself) was *not* enjoying his sojourn in the Human Plane. This 'being in distress' had turned out to be the Shishou, nominally a resident of the Demon Plane. The unlikely pairing had grown into a strong friendship, the life-debt turning into a deeper, more lasting bond. The new tie was sufficiently strong, in fact, to ensure the Shishou's assistance in the care of a certain clan of humans to whom Kaguya served as protector. The Mireba clan.   
  
Ninjas for centuries, Kaguya had deemed them strong both in the martial arts and in purity of purpose. Strong enough to act as a safeguard for her sacred robe, the Hagoromo, without which she could not return to the celestial Plane that was her home, but in physical contact with which her actions could be easily monitored (and chastised) by the less adventurous members of the clan she had left behind.  
  
So she had transformed the fine robe of multicoloured feathers into a single hairlike strand, and had entrusted it to the family, where it had been passed down as a sacred treasure for generations. And she had protected that family, and especially the bearers of the robe, throughout that time, joined much later in her self-imposed task by the Shishou.   
  
Then the robe had passed to Kaze.   
  
Then Kaze had been kidnapped.  
  
By the time Kaguya knew of this, sufficient amounts of Kaze's memory had been erased that he'd been unable - unaware of how - to use the Hagoromo to communicate with Kaguya, to summon her to his rescue.  
  
As his mind neared it's final extinction at the hands of the Doctor, he had passed the robe onto Robin, in a display of trust and hope that Kaguya had never seen paralleled.   
  
**He gave it to you. Even if he didn't know completely what he was doing, he wanted you to have that protection. He made you his Family.**  
  
Staggered, Robin tried to remember such a gift. Drawing blank after blank then suddenly . . . *The hair! That time, when he first braided my hair! He used a tie, one I never found again, to fasten the plait! That was the Hagoromo!* Dimly, he could sense Kaguya's approval, and through her, oddly, the Shishou's. Pleasure at his ability to work out the 'mystery' by himself.   
  
But sentiments that would normally have filled him with proud delight filled him with only a sense of dread. **Kaguya - the strand! I never used it to tie my hair again! The second time I braided it, I used a strip of my shirt. After that, the Doctor had it put in a high ponytail. I don't know where the Hagoromo strand is!** His panic washed over the unruffled Kaguya, who merely smiled in return.  
  
**That, little one, is because you internalised it. You could not have done better if you'd been trained to the task of Hagoromo Bearer from birth. It is at the moment inside you, tied around your heart and threaded through your being, as safe as you can make it, just like the Mireba Clan always promised.**  
  
**Then you will need to get it out! To return home!**  
  
**Indeed I will,** She paused, **But it will hurt. A lot. Once again, I'm sorry, but it is bound within you, mind and body. I . . . I'll need your help to do it.**  
  
**It's for Yuki. Anything you need. I can't lose her. Not like I lost Kaze. Anything at all that you need!**  
  
Kaguya nodded once, gravely, and then plunged her fingers into his chest, the claw-like edges of her sharpened nails splitting easily first Kevlar, and then flesh. At the same time, her mind dove into Robin's very essence, unbinding a single strand from the weave of his mind.  
  
With almost clinical detachment Robin noted that, as always, Kaguya was right: It hurt. A lot. Almost as badly as his torture at the hands of the Doctor, but without the sweet promise of unconscious oblivion. For this time, Robin had to stay awake, this time he had to help.  
  
With a cry like a dying bird, Robin collapsed into the Shishou's waiting arms, every inch of him exploding in pain as the strand wound around his heart, bound through his entire self, was carefully, and agonisingly, unpicked.  
  
That was when all hell broke loose.  
  
Robin's 'compatriots', trapped on the outside of the barrier Kaguya had erected, watched the proceedings in horror. Desperately, Nightwing, Superboy, Wondergirl and Troia tried to pound their way through. Their brute force was no more successful than Impulse's vibrations or Empress' teleportation.   
  
*********  
  
With a sigh, Kaguya withdrew her fingers, bloodied, from the ragged punctures in Robin's chest. Snared around her index finger was a single fine strand, as iridescent as opal. Gently, she shook the strand, each movement spattering blood in a fine arc around her, each movement increasing the volume of the strand she held until it returned to it's full glory. Truly, it was a mantle fit for the celestial princess whose shoulders it adorned.  
  
Behind her, the Shishou gently placed Robin on the ground, frowning at the thin trickle of blood from his mouth and nose; apparently, Kaguya had nicked a bronchus. Nothing I can't fix. A small burst of foxfire, and the healing was complete, only a messy smear of blood, and the two puncture holes in the Kevlar indicated any trauma at all, let alone the slicing dissection that had nearly shredded the boy's heart and being.  
  
The Hagoromo's familiar weight settled around her, Kaguya turned to the now slackly unconscious Robin.  
  
**I know, when you awaken, you will hear my words, little one. I thank you. I thank you for your care of the Hagoromo, and for your assistance in it's retrieval from your body. I return to my Plane now, as your Shishou returns to his, to continue the hunt for Yuki in our proper elements, using all the talents and devices at our disposal. When you awaken, I ask that you search on this Plane using all of your human abilities. The three of us shall not fail. Be in peace, little one, and be ready, for Yuki needs you, as do we all.**  
  
With the grace born of a heavenly court, Kaguya, now every inch the celestial princess, nodded to the Shishou. A flick of her wrist, and the barrier was dispelled, the Titans and Young Justice falling into an ungainly heap as the resistance to their efforts suddenly vanished. A heartbeat later, Kaguya soared skywards on an errant sunbeam, becoming translucent before disappearing, while the Shishou settled for the less showy, but equally effective, method of simply winking out of existence.  
  
Behind them, a small horde of humans and their metahuman counterparts charged towards the still figure of Robin. Needless to say, Impulse was the first to reach him.  
  
It took him a long moment to confirm that the Boy Wonder yet lived, though much less time to assess the punctured Kevlar and bloody trickle oozing from Robin's nose and mouth. A mere instant beyond that, he'd transported his friend to the Tower sickbay, vibrated off the Kevlar armour and the green tunic beneath.   
  
When the rest of the two teams arrived, it was this manner in which they found him. Tunic still in hand, his normally easy-going features were twisted into an expression of sickened horror.  
  
Before anyone could even speak, Impulse had dashed across the room, barring entrance to Nightwing with a look of pure determination that seemed, to his friends, as out of place as his earlier revulsion.  
  
"What'd you *do* to him?" He demanded, furious.   
  
"What?" Nightwing, confused, paused. "Is he okay?"  
  
"He's fine, just out cold. No wound, even," Superboy called from the bedside, having confirmed his diagnosis with one of the numerous diagnostic scanners the sickbay had available.  
  
"Hey, Imp? What's up?" Startled by his uncharacteristic behaviour, Wondergirl paused behind Nightwing, still in the doorway blocked by Impulse.  
  
"The only other time I saw marks like that it was on a friend of mine," Impulse snarled, "his mother had been beating him. Badly. Is this why Robin went missing?! You bat-people . . . doing *that* to him?!!"  
  
Nightwing, shocked, could only stare. A moment later, when he found his voice, the deadly intensity of it frightened everyone in the room. Including himself.  
  
"It wasn't us 'bat-people'. Robin got kidnapped. The scum who took him did . . . that. And worse."  
  
"Worse? What could be worse?"  
  
"Let's just say there's a reason he doesn't remember any of you." Unwilling to tell the whole story without his little brother's consent, Nightwing left it at that, standing his ground in the face of the angry and inquiring stares Young Justice levelled at him.  
  
"Who was it? Who took Robin?" Soft, yet heard clearly by all in the room, Secret's voice cut through the tension with the sharp blade of anger.  
  
"Too late to think of revenge, mist girl. The scumbag is already dead. Out of your reach."  
  
"Not necessarily."  
  
Throughout the whole exchange, Impulse's eyes never wavered from Nightwing's face. The yellow gaze examined him minutely, weighing, measuring. Nightwing met that gaze with his own. Nodding slightly, apparently satisfied with the truth in his words, Impulse turned away, moving out of Nightwing's path to allow him access to Robin's bedside.  
  
Having confirmed for himself that his little brother was merely unconscious and otherwise uninjured, Nightwing turned to the now lividly angry Arsenal, escorting him out of the sickbay and towards the rec room before the flame-haired archer could make good on his muttered threat of roast bird on a skewer. The master shot did *not* take kindly to being punched out by a kid sidekick.  
  
Behind him, the various members of Young Justice found chairs or walls to slump against, as they turned to watch over their currently frail-looking leader.  
  
"Well, this sure as heck wasn't how I thought this reunion would go." Superboy voiced the consensus sentiment.  
  
"Could be worse."  
  
"This is Young Justice. Of course it could be worse."  
Pause.  
  
"That didn't come out quite the way I meant."   
  
**********************  
  
Robin awoke with a single, burning need in his head. *Get up. Get moving. Get to a computer and hack into Oracle's network. Find information. FIND YUKI!!!*  
  
Eyes still closed, consciously forcing his breathing to mark the deep regularity of sleep, he stretched out his senses. Touch came to him first; he lay on his back, head propped on a pillow. Undressed to the waist, but nonetheless covered, presumably by a sheet, from it's smooth feel. Cool air brushing against his face.  
  
Scent next, the sterile reek of an infirmary. But he wasn't bound, and the odour was subtly different from both the Cave and the Organisation's labs, so he was fairly unconcerned by this. Sound followed; the nearly inaudible hum of an air conditioning unit. Slight rustlings of someone - several someones - shifting in chairs. One against what had to be a wall, two over near the far side of the bed.  
  
*Three in the room? Which ones? Let's see, I can disable - *His mental list was interrupted by the entrance of a fourth sound. This measured tread was one he knew well, his big brother, walking not with the light spring he so often bounded with, but the heavy gait of one with the world on his shoulders. *I'm sorry Nightwing. I ruined all your effort. And I'm about to make it worse.* Silently he waited, listening as the shuffling sounds stopped, then after an instant were replaced by the noises of several people getting up to leave, some more hesitantly than others.   
  
"We'll, uh, just wait outside while you, y'know, see how he's going." Superboy's voice, the normal brash confidence seemingly sapped from it, came from Robin's left. *So, that's where the doorway is.*   
  
"Hey Little Brother." A gentle hand traced his forehead, checking for fever, for the tightness of pain. Robin kept his breathing even.   
  
"I just want you to know it's not your fault. Donna doesn't blame you either, and Roy'll come around. You obviously trusted that pair, whoever they were. Didn't expect them to turn around and try to gut you. Then again, if someone'd told me Batman would just give away your identity after all you've gone through to protect it, I'd have laughed in their face. See? So people can always surprise you. Like that whole 'Master' bit. Sure surprised me, Little Brother, but just at the moment your explanation can wait." He paused, and Robin's heart ached; misguided as he was as to the reasons behind the 'attack', it was obvious that Nightwing cared greatly for him, Kaguya's 'victim'.   
  
"That said, soon as you wake up, I'm *so* gonna kick your ass for not countering that chick when she went to pull a stunt like that! And you thought riding a train blindfold was tough! You ain't seen nothing yet, kiddo!" As Nightwing turned to leave, Robin had to fight back a smile; Yep, that was his Big Brother all right! *And I wouldn't have it any other way!*  
  
The room was empty then, for a few precious seconds as Nightwing stood outside the door, speaking to the rest of Young Justice. Robin's eyes flew open, vision seeking that which tactile sensation had already confirmed.   
  
There, overhead, was an air conditioning vent.  
  
Nightwing left, and the others re-entered the sick bay as quietly as possible so as not to disturb its occupant. An occupant who, it soon became readily apparent, was no longer there.   
  
For the second time in the space of a few hours, all hell broke loose.  
***************** 


	6. part 6

WIND AND THE SNOW part 6

Disclaimer: the characters portrayed herein belong, with the exception of Kaze and Yuki, to DC, Warner Bros. and whoever else. Not me. I am simply borrowing them briefly. I am making no profit from this fic, and suing me would be an utter waste of time.

            Robin clambered through the air-conditioning vents, ignoring the layers of dust and debris that tickled his nose and made his throat scratch. He'd memorised a number of maps of the Titan's Tower as a matter of course, and was glad now to be able to recall them effortlessly. Especially the one of the duct system. 

            Behind him, the clamouring sounds from the med bay receded, and Robin sighed. _I wish I could have. . . But really, I can't afford to explain. I don't have the precious time I'd need for it, and more importantly, neither does Yuki._ He couldn't tell how he knew, but the feeling oozed from his bones with utter certainty. Yuki's time was running out. _Dammit! If I just remembered them, knew how to tell them what I need in a way that'd get them to understand, get their help. . . _ Savagely, he cut the thought short. He **didn't** remember them.  And anyhow, the Titans had refused Kaze aid, why should they, or their protégé Young Justice, help him? If they wouldn't assist what had been – by their standards – a civilian, then they certainly wouldn't aid Robin: _A vigilante as steeped in bat-mythos as I am would probably be expected to pull off minor miracles of the search-and-rescue nature easily,_ he considered bitterly.

            Never mind that search-and-rescue was the one 'minor miracle' that the Bat family had failed miserably in performing when Robin himself was kidnapped.

            At any rate, he was on his own. And if he wasn't fast, Yuki would be, too. 

            On the plus side, the commotion had driven the two resident Titans from the console room, which made his task that much easier when he dropped noiselessly into the corridor outside the chamber, slid through the door, and barricaded himself inside. Turning to the bank of state-of-the-art computers, Robin bent to his task.

            His 'back door' into Oracle's system opened, Robin proceeded to search for everything he could find, any elusive clue to track down Yuki's abductors. There was depressingly little in the general information pool, as he discovered moments later; no private jets had left Gotham within the requisite time frame, nor had any hire cars been taken. The tollbooths on the edge of Gotham – built after the reconstruction and still manned by human workers, both of the toll-collecting variety and recently the police drug-sting variety – recorded no even remotely suspicious vehicles (an oddity of itself, given how many of Gotham's villains were involved in smuggling in one way or another), likewise with the boats in Gotham Harbour. 

_So, either the kidnappers are sneakier – and better resourced – than most, or they're still in Gotham_. He fervently hoped it was the second. The first, well the first smacked strongly of the Organisation, or some set-up of a similar size and monetary endowment, if not the same precise nature. After all, Oracle had checked all these parameters when **he** had disappeared, and nothing had come up. Robin suppressed a shiver, then his mind tracked back a step.

            _A large, well-financed operation. Hn._

            An instant later, Robin entered the Mireba Industries network. He had, through the Shishou and Kaguya (the first a confirmed techno-head, though he'd deny it to his last breath), been set up with a limited access to the system, to enable his safe and easy passage within the building to get to training (The security was updated regularly, so allowing him computer access to the update plans was the best way of ensuring his continued good health while also providing valuable 'sneaky entrance' practice by allowing him to come as he pleased, and enter unannounced. Truly, his teachers thought of everything). Through this, he springboarded into the rest of the security system, on a simple, honest-to-goodness punt.

            Fortunately, it worked. _I was counting on the Mireba Clan's unwillingness to lose a second child to suspicious circumstances. After all, Yuki's the only living scion left!_ With renewed determination, Robin set about making sure she remained that way.

The Mireba security set-up included cameras all over the building (except in the Dojo itself), on the street outside the building. . .

            And in Yuki's bedroom and quarters at Bryleaf.

            Robin did not waver, did not even hesitate. His fingers flew as he directed the cameras to zoom over every inch of what he now designated 'the crime scene'.

*********

            _They're very good whoever they are_, he mused as he examined with clinical detachment the images on the screen, _but the retrievalists were better._ There was, if one looked closely, a wealth of information left behind: a fragment of ripped cloth hung from the windowsill, and there were boot prints over the floor where the assailants had tracked in mud and debris from the garden outside. (As Yuki's rooms were ground floor, there were no prizes for guessing how the goons had entered.) Forensics had already been by, and had vacuumed the carpet. A mere thought and a flick of the fingers, and Robin was deep within the Police network. A human reviewed analysis of the vacuum contents had not yet been done, but Robin helped himself to the scanned images already in Oracle's network. _Egyptian Cotton. Cheap. Exported all over and used for lots of things. Except that I know Yuki hates the stuff._ A few strands of hair. _Animal,_ Robin decided, examining them. Activating the Crays via remote, he set that remarkable machine to work on matching the hair's refractory patterns, and the fabric's dye characteristics, while he examined the rest of the information. 

            The computer pinged as he was contemplating the sole pattern left behind by the boot print. _Foreign Legion I bet, they're the only ones who officially use this grip, though a number of Legionnaires have gone mercenary with their equipment. Just as well most of the detective training Batman gave me was still deemed useful by the Doctor for locating targets. I'd have spent ages matching this print otherwise. _Backtracking, he looked at the company that produced the boot, the orders logbook of which confirmed his theory._ And none sold as surplus? Wow, they're doing better than Doc Martins. Ah . . . Made in batches for the Legion, which keeps the excess pairs on hand_. Legion files, though slightly harder to crack, showed that no fewer than four hundred Legionnaires had absconded or been discharged since the boots had been issued. Three hundred had taken their footwear with them. Robin wasn't sure what to make of the other hundred, but that really wasn't his priority. There were no reports of break-ins or theft from the boot storage area.

            _The footprint in Yuki's room shows some wear and tear. Given that the soles are made out of extra-durable rubber compounds, that sort of deterioration would take two or three years of solid, every day wear. _He excluded from his list of three hundred all those who had been gone less than eighteen months (to be on the safe side). The boots had only been brought in as standard equipment four years prior, narrowing his search to a mere hundred people who had obtained the footwear in the requisite period. Of these hundred, the whereabouts of the thirty still in the legion were confirmed at the time of the kidnap; five had been imprisoned, fifteen had logged radio calls from various parts of the middle east (undertaking, Robin was sure, a variety of interesting and possibly illegal missions). Ten had been in hospital. _Okay, looks like we can rule out active Legionnaires._

            He turned his attention to the remaining seventy people. The whereabouts of many where unknown. Glancing at the boot again, he ruled out about a third of the honourably discharged. _After all, if you're a paraplegic or missing a limb or two you can't really go climbing through windows and abducting extremely capable girls by yourself. At least, not usually._ This left him with fifty people, presumably scattered across the face of the earth. Robin sighed in irritation.         

            _I don't even know who's behind this, so I can't work forward from that to figure out which of these people is likely to be doing their gruntwork. Mireba Industries has a lot of enemies, all major corporations do. But enough with the resources to hire mercenaries like this? For a simple kidnapping with no ransom demand? Check that. The kidnap of an accomplished martial artist, which, since it was a successful abduction, means they planned well and knew their victim's capabilities. _

            _So what if it's not Mireba Industries they're after? What if it really is Yuki herself? Why would they want her, if not for her status as the Mireba heir? Her martial arts ability? The training she got from Kaguya and the Shishou? If that's the case, then . . ._ Another hunch, and Robin, like his mentor, had learned to trust them. . .

*****

            It had been a matter of sheer simplicity for Robin to install cameras in his own room, part of his security network (after all, he kept his costume there. He wanted, no **needed** to know what happened in the room when he was absent.) It was equally simple for him to activate those cameras remotely, and view his living space in vivid colour. 

            The place had been utterly ransacked. It seemed that the criminals had had the finesse to pick the lock on the door, enter quietly, and then get really annoyed that the room was empty and trash it. _Looking, presumably, for me, since Yuki was obviously in her room and not visiting (which, of course, school rules prohibit, so she wouldn' t have done anyway). So. _A quick analysis of the marks in the room indicated that it had been the same team as the one dispatched to Yuki's quarters – no fabric, but a wealth of faint boot prints. _The cleaner is gonna have a fit when he goes into the common room and sees this. Lucky he only comes once a week. Even luckier, the police don't know about this break-in, so the place is untouched. _

            Then, jackpot: fallen in the corner was a small piece of beadwork on a leather string. Inconsequential to most, Robin zoomed in on it immediately. It was not his. He owned no pendant or article of clothing from which it may have come. _And I have had no visitors into the room._ Which left one conclusion. It belonged to the kidnappers.

            Nightwing, and possibly even Batman, would have taken a step back at the look that iced over Robin's eyes as he regarded the small object. _A rather uncommon piece of adornment. One I've seen precisely once before. _

            As if reading his mind, the link to the Crays computer blipped at that very moment. The hair was indeed animal. From a camel to be specific. Robin smiled grimly; it matched with the beadwork.

            _I remember that beaded style of camel ornamentation from an old case of Batman's I was reviewing; it comes from a nomadic tribe in the Sahara. Batman tracked them down once before, and with them, Ra's al Ghul! The catch is, as they are nomadic, how will I find them?  _Turning back to the data from the Foreign Legion, he narrowed the list of names down to those registered as tribesmen from the African continent. There were ten. Interestingly, they had all enlisted on the same day, and despite serving in several different units with different active duty rosters, all managed to abscond on the identical date. They'd left few days after, Robin noted, R'as had vanished from the Indian subcontinent, his base there reputedly destroyed by Shiva. _One event is odd, two is coincidence. Three. . . Three is enemy action. I wonder how Ra's managed to tick **Shiva** off? _Mentally reviewing what he knew of both Shiva and Ra's, Robin reached a different conclusion. P_erhaps he's got – had – an exceptional warrior in his employ. If it's still present tense, I may yet have him or her to contend with. Anyone who gives Shiva a run for her money is dangerous, though since the base was levelled it's altogether likely Shiva was victorious. Again. And the 'challenge' is dead. _Neither thought boded well, though selfishly, Robin hoped the contender had at least been taken out of action or was no longer with the Demon._ A knock-down, draw-out fight would delay any rescue mission. And I do not wish that. Yuki may not have that time._ Shaking himself, he got back to work.

            It was likely, he realised, that the tribesmen had been loyal to al Ghul before they'd signed up, and then joined the legion when they were surplus to his immediate needs, going AWOL when the time came that their presence was again required. It was also likely that they would rejoin their tribe after Yuki was successfully delivered to . . . wherever. _After all, as deserters, it's not like they can go back the Legion if Ra's has no further immediate need for them. So. That's where I start 'enquiring'. And if I find the Demon at the same time, all the better, for where he is, Yuki will be._ It also explained how Yuki had been taken out of Gotham; Ra's al Ghul was one of the few private owner-operators of a long-range stealth helicopter. Despite his detective work so far, Robin could not rid himself of the nagging suspicion he'd missed something. Shrugging, he set his subconscious to work on it as he sliced into the satellite monitoring division of the pentagon. 

            Maps detailing the precise current location of the nomad tribe firmly in his possession, Robin was about to override the security codes for the Titan's jet, preparatory to absconding with it (codes which Batman had unknowingly supplied when he'd allowed Robin access to the Crays in his convalescence: The Bat had them because he believed in being well prepared for any eventuality, and in this as in many other things, Robin was his willing pupil.) when someone **else** overrode the security lock on the console room door.

            Robin found himself confronted with a confused, and highly annoyed, Young Justice (and Nightwing).

            "Beating up two Titans, getting beaten up by some . . . things, and then nicking off on us? Robin, what's going on?!" Looking guiltily at his big brother, Robin opened his mouth to speak. He cared for this man, cared for his opinion, didn't want to lose the big brother-little brother relationship they shared. _So I have to be honest, take the time to answer properly. Yuki will understand, especially as I know him, know how to tell him what I need to, without it taking forever. _

            "I . . . I needed to do something. I didn't have time . . . I, look Troia'll get full sensation back in her hand eventually. Please. Please, let me do what I need to."

            Nightwing stared at him for a long moment, and Robin could feel the atmosphere getting ready to explode. Oddly enough, it was Superboy who interjected.

            "Um, say Nightwing, can we, like, have a minute with him? Alone? Seeing as how this is kinda s'posed to be **our** reunion anyway."

            After another long glance at his little brother, Nightwing nodded shortly and left silently.

************

            The silence lasted precisely as long as it took for Nightwing to exit the room. Then, Wondergirl broke the quiet.

            "Robin, we know you don't remember us, but this! You obviously don't – can't or won't - trust us, so why did you come in the first place?!" Her hurt, for some reason, shook him to his bones.

            "I . . . I, it wasn't my idea! I . . ." He trailed off, alarmed by their sudden angry stares.

            "It was Batman's idea, wasn't it?" Wondergirl's voice was filled with anguish and disgust. "He came up with plans to stop the JLA if they ever got out of line by his book. He sent you to meet up with us. Get current data on us that, like, none of our JLA mentors would let him near after that mess where the plans were stolen, so he could make the same arrangement with us, didn't he? Or was this all your own plan?"

            Boldness, Robin decided, was the key. That and honesty. With no small amount of speed. "Not at all," he replied. "However, I think that's an excellent idea."

            For the second time in the space of a day, shocked silence greeted his words. Taking advantage of the lull, Robin continued.

            "I suggest that, when you have some time, the group of you sit down and work out a plan which you can use against me if I ever go rogue." _Not that it will likely work, given how different I am now from the Robin they knew then, but it will be a useful diversion._ "After all, even I can get kidnapped and brainwashed, and if it happens again I might be targeting you lot for assassination."

            From the horrified, but largely unsurprised expressions on their faces, Robin figured out how much Nightwing must have told them already. _Some of it. But not all. Not that I'd been 'brainwashed' – as if you could call the reprogramming process something that crude and incomplete – and not that I shot Batman. So. Nightwing trusts these guys a lot, but still respects my privacy. Interesting. A moot point, given that with that one sentence I've very likely completely destroyed any trust they ever had for me._

            This time, however, it was Robin's turn to be surprised. Secret's voice, breathy and as gentle as a kiss, wafted out into the room.

            "That wasn't your fault! It can't have been! And anyway, that still doesn't tell us why you agreed to come, even though it wasn't your idea?" Robin started; the voice held no accusation, no distance or distaste, just a simple desperate need to know. There was something special about this mist girl, Robin knew, though he could not recall what. Whatever it was, she deserved the truth. Searching the faces of the other Y.J.ers, Robin knew that held true for all of them.Slowly, he drew in a long breath, carefully phrasing his reply.

            "I came because I needed to see Superboy."

            "You remember him?!"

            "Not. . . Not from before. But from afterwards, yes, I do. So I came because I had some things to say to him, things that I really couldn't leave waiting." Turning, he addressed the teen of steel. "So, can I talk to you privately for a minute?"

            Before Superboy could open his mouth, Wondergirl's voice cut across, still sharp.

            "No! You just said you might be targeting us! I'm not gonna let you take us one-on-one!"

            "Wondy!" "How can you – " "That's not –" Robin cut across the swell of angry voices.

            "Acknowledged." He turned to Superboy, "I wanted to say thank you, and to apologise."

            "What?"

            "Thank you for saving my life."

            "Oh, that. No sweat. It's what team-mates do, right? And it's what the Kid does best!" Robin smiled thinly and without humour at that.

            "And I'm sorry I tried to kill you."

            The speed of Superboy's reply indicated that he, too, had seen the horrified expressions on the rest of Young Justice's faces.

            "Again, no problem. After all, it wasn't like it was really you doin' it, an' hey, I'm still alive. Guess this makes us square for that Ivy thing a while back, okay?"

            Robin's almost-smile was this time a lot closer to real.

            "Deal."

            "Whaddayamean,itwasn'treallyhim? Whathappened?" Robin paused at the speedster's rushed question. It probably deserved an answer. _And the right answer will get them off my back so I can go rescue Yuki._ Stealing the Titan's jet was still an option, he decided. 

            "What happened? Superboy got in the way."

            "So you didn't really mean to hurt him? To . . . kill him?" Wondergirl spoke, her tone indicating she desperately wanted to believe. To know that all was still right in her world. That one of her universal constants – _superheroes don't kill, and especially not each other_ – hadn't been turned on it's head.          

"I hadn't planned on it. After all, the target I wasprogrammed to assassinate wasBatman."

            Taking advantage of the frozen silence that followed, Robin slipped into the corridor, heading for the launch bay. _Estimate about two minutes before the shock wears off and they come charging after me. And try to stop me. They hardly see me as an ally anymore, and they may see me as a foe. Not that it matters, as they probably wouldn't have helped me anyway._ It was going to be close, but he should still make it . . .

            He hadn't counted on the mist girl.

            She was suddenly around him, enveloping him, holding him close without making him feel imprisoned. On the contrary, for the first time in a very long while, Robin felt utterly safe.

            The delay wasn't long, but it was long enough.

            "So, what's the big mission now? Where're we going?" Cheerfully, Superboy spoke, behind him the various members of Young Justice nodded enthusiastically.

            "We? **I'm** going to rescue someone. Someone very . . . special."

            Impulse groaned, "not another token love interest, please! I don't know what you guys see in them! None of them are cool friends like Carol and me, they're all just goopy romantic-y . . ."

            "No, she's not . . . the two of us aren't like that." Hope flared in Robin. _ They . . . they're going to help? Even though the Titans wouldn't?_

            "So what is she then?" For the first time, Secret sounded annoyed. _Huh? I don't get it. She's okay with abduction, brainwashing and attempted murder, but me having a girlfriend is bad?_ Robin shoved the observation aside. He could ponder it later.

            "She's . . . family, I guess. The cousin of a really important friend of mine, a friend I owe bigtime."

            "Owe? Like what? More than you owe the Kid here for saving your life?" Robin winced at the utter lack of tack.

            "Superboy saved my life. Kaze made sure I had enough of a mind of my own left to be able to take advantage of that."

            Silence.

            "Alright then!" "Let's get a move-on!" "C'mon, outta here!" "We managed to coax the Supercycle to come with us when we told it you were gonna be here, so let's go!" "Yeah, flying'll be pretty quick."

            As he was dragged off, dazed by his team's cheerful assumption that yes, they could and more importantly would (of course) help, Robin could only think, _So I **was** right about the flying motorbike!_

End part six. Part seven coming soon.

A very big thanks to Margo, without whose cheerful encouragement, this part would likely have taken a good deal longer.

NOTES:

1. Giving Robin a building's security plans, and then expecting him to infiltrate it is par for the course (See 'Robin: A Hero Reborn' trade paperback.). Kaguya and the Shishou are, I guess, just expanding their teaching repertoire (grin) and tailoring it to their student.

2. No, I have **no** idea what sort of footwear the Foreign Legion uses. And yes, I sincerely doubt their equipment set-up is as complicated as this. But hey, that's what story-telling license (and plot devices) is all about.

3. The strip-of-beaded-leather plot device is borrowed from "Batman: Tales of the Demon" trade paperback.

4. Yes, I know. YJ has various degrees of OOC-ness in this part. Especially Wondergirl, whose tendency to see things as black or white I have taken to an extreme.  **shrugs** hey, it fit the plot, and it's eleven months after their leader vanished mysteriously. People change. (see? Absolutely nothing to do with my crappy writing skills. See? See?)

5. I attempted a small amount of humour in the very last bit of this fic. I'm not so good at humour. Please tell me what you think.


	7. part 7

Wind and the Snow

Part VII

Disclaimer: The characters portrayed herein, with the sole exception of my original character Yuki, belong to DC, Warner Bros. and whoever else. They are not mine. I am simply borrowing them for the purpose of a little entertainment (mine and hopefully my readers'). This fic generates no financial gain, now or ever. Please don't sue; you're a well-financed multinational corporation. I'm not. 

Notes: Okay, I wrote this. Then I re-wrote it. Then the disk and a mobile phone got into a brawl. The disk, or rather the data on it, lost. So, this is version three of part seven, shorter and more poorly written than I'd planned.

Special thanks to Maggie and Lockheed, for comments and constructive criticism, as well as a few gentle nudges to get me working.

Robin stared at the vehicle parked immobile in the launch bay in front of him.  He couldn't shake the feeling that said vehicle was looking right back at him, a tense eagerness in it's pose. 

Exhaling, he searched his memory. Fuzzy, and obscured by other memories of pain and torture, the Supercycle was there. The other regular occupants of the cycle were utterly blanked out, though he knew from his post-rescue research that they comprised the ranks of Young Justice. The physical form of the cycle was somewhat different from what he had muzzily expected. _But that's not surprising. The Doctor would have erased as much of my memory of the cycle as he could, but it would have been hard to match it specifically to this one. Indeed, I suspect this machine is unique, at least on this planet. Certainly, an erasure programme for a **sentient** vehicle with a distinctly droll personality would have been difficult to write._ Carefully, he skirted around his memories, gingerly avoiding the pain blocks that still bruised his psyche. Behind him, Young Justice held their collective breaths. 

A slight curve of his lips, the closest he had come to a genuine smile since his arrival at Titans Tower, and Robin knelt down in front of the cycle.

"Hi," He said simply, "I think I kind of remember you. I think maybe we were . . . friends?" 

If it had had a tail, the Supercycle would have been wagging it furiously. As it was, however, the bike simply settled for bouncing in eagerness, butting its bumper bar against Robin's arm until he gently started caressing it.

Running his fingers over one of the cycle's headlights, Robin murmured, "I'm glad I was right. I'm glad there're some things I still remember right." _And not all of them involve pain. _The sentiment, though unspoken, was not unthought. Nor was it unique to Robin. 

"Hey kewl! The cyke's happy again!!" Imp bounced with delight, while Superboy, pretending to be annoyed, exclaimed "Great. He doesn't remember us, but the Supercycle? No prob! I wonder if we should be offended." 

In the aftermath of the laughter that followed his comment – laughter that Robin did not join – Superboy ceremoniously climbed into the front passenger compartment. The others followed his lead until all were seated, leaving only Robin standing, and only one place unoccupied.

"Well, what're we waiting for?" With a giggle, Secret gestured to the empty pilot's seat. A bare instant of hesitation, and Robin swung his leg over the cycle, dropping into what had been his accustomed place. It felt . . . right. Somehow, in some way that Robin couldn't define, it felt just perfect. 

"Nothing," he said resolutely, "we're waiting for absolutely nothing." A thought, as much as the touch on the handlebars, sent the Supercycle spinning out into the night. 

"So," Superboy settled himself more comfortably into his spot, the others mirroring his actions as they reacquainted themselves with the cycle's upholstery (it had been a long time since they'd been able to convince the cycle to 'come out and play'). "Where're we headed?"

"Africa."

As he touched the phase-out button on the console and sent the Cycle plummeting earthward on what only **looked** like an out-of-control, unplanned trajectory, Robin calmly elaborated, "We're going to see what a certain camel-riding tribe of demon followers can tell us."

************

            Finding their foe took substantially less time that Robin – or indeed any of them – had anticipated. 

This was because, rather than going first to the Bedouin camp to begin their investigations, they fell – quite literally - over Al Ghul's stronghold. 

On later reflection, Robin would come to suspect that this was a lot less accidental than it had seemed at the time; the cycle still had **some** unknown characteristics. Not the least of which, Robin was inclined to think, was the remarkable ability to track down otherwise-capable people who'd managed to land in far greater peril than they could reasonably be expected to extricate themselves from. _Witness how it found Arrowette,_ he mused, _after her first encounter with Harm._

At the time, however, Robin was acutely more interested in how his phase-through trajectory had suddenly become an airborne trajectory a full three seconds before he'd calculated they were due to arrive at the Sahara camp. Then, as the Supercycle's scanners showed the base cunningly hidden behind the rocky cliff face, he had other things on his mind.

_So, Al Ghul is indeed in Africa. And mere miles from his tribe of legion deserters and camel ornamentation fabricators. You'd think after his last little run-in with the Batman he'd know better than that. _Hovering above the cliff, Robin hit the phase out button, and directed the cycle downwards.

For the second time in the space of one trip, the Supercycle fell like a rock, jarring it's occupants even through the air-and-pressure bubble it had created around them. It fell, and it phased, avoiding the flak of anti-aircraft fire that erupted from the innocent looking rockface. 

The controlled tumble took the Supercycle right through the cliff (and through several large chambers), before it phased in again, it's passengers grimly hanging on for dear life, Superboy too startled to even think of fixing them all in place with his tactile telekinesis.

In the end it was this oversight that saved all their lives.

From his superior vantage point in the piloting seat, Robin caught a flashing glimpse of a spreading dark mass underneath the cycle. With an instinct born from the unique combination of programming and the wild streets of Gotham, he leapt from the cycle, slinging a jump line over a security turret as he did so. 

"Everybody scatter!"  He yelled, swinging away from the blackness that carpeted a large section of the floor. 

To their credit, all of Young Justice started to move. Impulse even got so far as to make it off the cycle. Unfortunately, his running leap carried him onto the spreading darkness. . . 

And there he stuck, face down, as the sudden deceleration sent him sprawling. 

"Impulse!" 

"S'okay! My frictionless aura kept me okay!"  Concerned, Wonder Girl flew from her seat, intent on pulling her team-mate out of the dark, almost sticky, matter that held him fast. Grabbing at him, she managed to turn him over, some of the culprit substance spattering her costume and skin as she did so. 

The dull thud of an adolescent girl hitting the ground was very audible in the suddenly hushed chamber. The dark drops, adhesive to Wonder Girl, had sought their source, dragging the hapless teen with them, her strength irrelevant. 

"Stay put!" Robin yelled, but too late . . .

Both Secret and Superboy moved to their team's assistance, and both were flung down by dual energy beams slicing out of the dark field. While Superboy, stunned, fell and promptly stuck to the inky matter, Secret was netted into place by the web of electricity spun from the beams.

From his crouching stance on the security turret, Robin glanced across the room, noting the sudden immobility of his companions and their vehicle. Rapidly his mind ticked over, formulating and discarding plan after plan.

It was less than a second before he decided on a reasonable course of action. 

"Are you all physically functional?"

Various affirmatives, sheepish, angry and frightened, greeted his query.

"Superboy, can you use your TK to free yourself and the others?"

"Um . . . I'll give it a go. I'm sorta more used to bindin' stuff together, or makin' stuff invulnerable than I am to rippin' it apart. Plus this goo's . . . strange. I dunno, hard to work with or something."

"Work on it. Impulse, you try vibrating through it. Wondergirl, hold onto him as he does so."

"Okay, I'll . . . YEOWCH! The stuff's like tar! Vibrating only makes it heat up and burn!" 

His face expressionless, Robin held his sigh in check. _Why did I think getting these guys to help was such a good idea again? _Turning, he focussed his attention to the only person still inside the Supercycle.

"Empress, can you teleport out of the cycle? To the margin of this black stuff?" 

"No. I've been gauging that while you were talking. My teleporting range is limited to a couple of feet. It's too far for me to make it."

Without an instant of hesitation, Robin readied a jump line. _If I can get her off the bogged-down cycle without either of us getting trapped like the others, she will provide a significant tactical advantage. _Calculating his trajectory carefully, he realised a simple swing wouldn't work; even if the mired cycle allowed her to stand on it's handlebars for the pick-up, the curve of his line would still smear them across the wall on the far side of the room, just below the security turret that was the twin of the one he presently crouched on. _Hn. If I can get a line slung across to the other turret. . ._

"Can you teleport to a point four meters above your head?"

"Uh . . . midair?"

"Affirmative."

"But . . . I'll fall!"

"Yes, and I'll catch you." It was a moment of truth. Robin knew it, and so did everyone else. Would Empress trust him? This strange boy, both the same as, and radically different from, the leader lost nearly a year ago. Taken, and then returned, reshaped into an almost unknown quantity . . . Could any of the team trust him? Could they afford not to? An almost imperceptible hesitation later, Empress replied firmly.

"Just tell me when you want me to 'port."

Robin let out a breath he barely realised he'd been holding. 

"When I say to, teleport. As soon as you've done so, go limp."

"Um . . . Okay." Nodding, Empress signalled her readiness. With careful aim, Robin threw the jump line to the opposite turret, snagging it around one of the jutting cameras and pulling the line taut before affixing it to another convenient protuberance at his feet. _I'd better hurry. Even though the cycle's phasing may have thrown them for a little, Ra's Al Ghul's forces should be here pretty promptly, and I'd rather not be in the middle of a rescue when I find out if Al Ghul's warrior survived Shiva's attack on the India base._ With that in mind, he stepped onto the makeshift tightrope and, as easily as if he were merely going for a run in a park, dashed sure-footedly to a point just above Empress and the cycle.

"Go now." Empress, caught flat-footed by the Boy Wonder's casual agility, nodded briefly, and vanished . . .

She reappeared almost instantaneously, a little over four meters above her previous position, using all of her considerable discipline to go limp as gravity took hold, and she tumbled earthwards. . .

Her fall was arrested less than a meter after it started, when she landed in Robin's arms. Empress barely had time to breathe a sigh of relief before she was slung into an undignified fireman's hoist over the other teen's shoulders, and he continued on his way to the other turret. They would have made it too, if not for the millisecond pause. 

Robin caught the girl and adjusted to her weight easily; she wasn't that much heavier than he'd estimated, though enough so that the best way of retaining his balance was carrying her across his shoulders. His legs straightened from the catch, and he started moving again, a touch more sedately than before, towards the far turret. _Then I need to work out how to get out of here. Ideally after negating this black stuff that's holding everyone. Hn. Maybe I can get Empress to do that while I go ahead and look for Yuki._

It was then that he glanced down, and in the process made an important discovery. 

The black field that held the rest of Young Justice captive was shrinking. Rapidly. Even as he watched, the margin reached Wondergirl on the outermost edge. For an instant he held the futile hope that it would retreat around her, but that desire was dashed as the goo simply dragged her with it. Her squawk of surprise attracted the attention of the others affixed to the floor, and all turned from watching Robin's progress to the source of the noise. 

At the same time that the ebbing black wave slammed Young Justice against the wall like so much human flotsam, the heroes became acutely aware that they were no longer alone in the room. Awareness precipitated by the harsh crack of gunfire.

As the shot rang out, Robin dropped Empress, who teleported to the now goo-free ground. A gut-wrenching instant later, when she stood up, it became apparent she was unhurt. Breathing a heartfelt sigh of relief, Young Justice turned back to their nominal leader, who remained balanced with almost unnatural stillness on the tightrope. . .

It didn't last. 

The Boy Wonder crumpled, his fall from the tightrope an elegant swan dive that ended in a grisly thump. He moved before anyone could scream, however, rolling onto his side. _Thank God for Kevlar! _Robin turned his head to look up to the direction the shot had come from. The others could only follow his gaze as his eyes widened and his breath caught.

The object of their scrutiny was remarkably unprepossessing. A slight, almost fragile seeming shape, standing in an entryway that had opened in a previously blank wall. The figure breezed into the room with feline grace, still-smoking gun dangling loosely from a black gloved hand, almost as an afterthought. The inky darkness of the glove melded into the rest of the figure's outfit, which swathed the body entirely in close fitting black, leaving only the head exposed.

The face was of indifferent beauty, a smooth, emotionless mask beneath tightly knotted dark hair, chips of ice for eyes. With a sick feeling in his stomach, Superboy recalled the only other time he had seen such a flat, dead expression. It wasn't a hard search; the memory was burned into his brain as vividly as if it had only just occurred. 

Superboy's worst nightmares were realised as behind him, from his slumped position on the floor, Robin managed to grind out a single, strangled word. . .

"K-Kaze?"

To be continued in part VIII.

NOTES

1. Impulse's inability to vibrate through tar is discussed and expanded on very early on in his own comic. Sorry, I can't tell you the exact issue number it first comes up in. If anyone can help me out here, please let me know.


	8. part 8

Wind and the Snow 

Part 8

Disclaimer: Young Justice belongs to DC and Time Warner. I represent neither of the aforementioned. I am simply a student who is borrowing the characters briefly for the purpose of entertainment. No profit is being made from this fic. 

C&C greatly appreciated. Even if it's just to let me know you've read this part, I really wanna hear about it.

*************

            Unaware of Robin's gasping recognition, Empress sprang to the attack, one thought only on her mind, _protect the others! I must protect the others, no matter what it costs me!_ She was, she grimly realised, ready to put her all to that end. Simultaneously teleporting and swinging her ornately carved club to her waist, she prepared to draw the hidden blade within it. . .

            She never got the chance. 

            With the same careless ease that Robin had displayed when snatching her out of the air, the figure batted Empress aside. She hit the wall hard, slumping to the floor as her staff rolled a few feet away. The black-clad fighter didn't even spare the limp body a glance as with a flowing move, it rounded on the rest of Young Justice. Trapped, the others could only stare as the androgenous figure stalked gracefully closer. 

            Behind it, Robin stirred from his position on the floor. But he did not launch an offensive. Instead, to the growing concern of his still-conscious team-mates, he seemed to be occupied with rummaging in a compartment in his belt, withdrawing a small tube of what looked like solvent.

            "Uh . . . a little help here . . ." Superboy opined, struggling a little harder against the black goo that held him fast. Beside him, from her cage of energy, Secret sobbed gratingly.

            "Secret? You okay?"

            "It's wrong . . . it's just wrong! Death and the girl and the other! But only two souls! They're both **hurting**!! Robin won't . . . Robin can't –"

            She was cut off as Robin staggered to his feet, hands covering his face, and screamed. Not in terror, but with a harsh-edged desperation that drilled to the very core of all who were listening.

            "Kaze!. . .  DIX-HUIT!!"

            Amazingly, the figure paused, even turned. It's icy, blank face slowly cracking as it regarded the boy wonder standing shakily behind it. Robin dropped his hands, pulling off his mask. And something else. To the combined shock of Young Justice, Robin's hair came away in his palms. 

            "What the?"

            "Rob?"

            "Since when . . .?"

            The mask and short-haired wig fell discarded to the floor beside him, and Robin loosed the pin holding the thick braid of hair firmly around his head, the heavy plait falling over his shoulder to drape his chest. 

            "It's me, Kaze. . . It's me." In front of him, the fighter clutched at it's head, and tumbled to it's knees. In the same soft voice, Robin continued, edging closer to the silently sobbing figure with every word. "I know you're Kaze, and I know that's Yuki's body. I thought at first it was just you, my friend, but the face is too rounded, so very faintly different. But the Doctor's lab was destroyed! I saw you do it yourself! How did R'as do this to you!? Where's Yuki's mind?!"  _A back up! The Doctor must have left a back up, but not of the finished Dix-huit, for this is most definitely Kaze-Dewitt. How on earth did Al Ghul manage to install it – him – into Yuki? _Gently he reached the figure's side, hugging the shaking girl – for girl it was revealed to be, as Robin's arms pulled cloth taut over the fighter's body – in a kneeling embrace.  

"Th-this is the chick we came to rescue?" Superboy and the others could only look on in sickened silence as the enormity of the situation came crashing in on them.

*************

Young Justice weren't the only ones stunned by the revelation. Sitting in a monitoring room surrounded by multiple televisions all playing out the scene from a variety of angles, a certain eerie immortal was struck speechless for the first time in almost two hundred years (periods just following emergence from the Lazarus pit didn't count). 

            **_Robin** is the elusive surviving test subject!? The successful Unit Twenty? The non-killing Bat's squire is the ultimate assassin?!_ The irony did not elude him. _For a change, Detective, it would appear you have something other than your person that I very dearly want, and not just for my daughter's sake._

            Settling back in his chair, the Demon ordered the dispatch of a certain other unit, one designed not for assassination per se, but rather specifically the elimination of the annoying metahuman pests that occasionally fell into his path. _I'll get rid of these other brats, and then, at my leisure, I'll reactivate you, Twenty. For my own personal use._ His face hidden in shadow, only Ra's' Cheshire grin was visible. 

Humourless, the smirk widened as the monitors showed the mop-up unit enter the fight chamber. What the Demon wanted, he got.

***********

            Usually, at least. Certain people – namely the Detective – had a habit of thwarting Ra's Al Ghul's desires. It was a characteristic, he discovered, that the man's squire shared.

            The robot had entered the room, it's hefty bulk dwarfed by the gargantuan proportions of the chamber. Despite this, it was a more than unnerving sight to the trapped heroes.

            "M-Metallo?" Superboy could only gasp, waiting with sickening certainty for someone to confirm his guess. From his position on the floor in front of the others, Robin drew in a sharp breath, moving to place himself between the approaching mechanoid and the rest of the chamber's occupants.

            "No," Softly spoken, the word nonetheless cut through the tension. Despite being most definitely a boy's voice it was, Wondergirl belatedly realised, coming from the girl in black. Robin turned back to her, listening intently though not, the blonde heroine noticed, withdrawing his attention entirely from the approaching metallic fiend. 

            Shivering, s/he continued, "it's an elimination mecha. Designed specifically for metas. Having them neatly lined up like festival goldfish will make its job a lot easier." Robin nodded slightly. 

            "Weaknesses?"

            Suddenly, the figure smiled. It wasn't, Robin noted, a Yuki smile at all. The tilt of the head, the unbridled – and undisguised – joy which imbued every grin he'd ever seen on Yuki's face wasn't there. Nonetheless, it was a real smile. As full of pain as of warmth, of irony as of humour. Of desperation as of hope.

            It was Kaze's smile. 

            Involuntarily, he felt his own lips twisting to match it. Then, his eyes joined his mouth, expressing the emotions he could never say out loud. Robin smiled. A real, honest-to-god, genuine smile. 

            As the Shishou had noted, and Kaze now realised, it was the perfected variant. 

            It was also for him, and him alone. A gift he'd nearly missed out on for all eternity.

            A slight pause as Kaze accessed Yuki's memories of her own martial education and the part he had played within it, then "Tell me," he said, an abrupt playfulness in his tone, "Have you been training with the Master and the Lady?"

            "Need you ask?" Robin's smile deepened.

            "Ah. Then you will know the hundred and forty-seventh kata?"

            "Indeed. I'll meet you on the other side."

            "Acknowledged." 

With matched fluidity, the two stood to attack, ignoring the bewildered looks of the rest of Young Justice; while they had not understood the short-hand conversation, Robin had followed it perfectly. The robot had two vulnerable sites. Both needed to be hit.

Simultaneously. 

Something not even Impulse with his speed or Superboy with his tactile telekinesis would have a hope of doing alone, even if they weren't currently rooted to the spot. Something neither the boy, nor the boy-in-girl currently facing the monstrosity could do solo.

But they weren't solo. Nor were they ordinary. 

Unit Nineteen and Unit Twenty moved forward to attack, but it was the wind and the bird that synchronised perfectly, turning the destructiveness of the martial arts they deployed into an intricately beautiful dance, one no less deadly for all it's grace. Leading and following so intermingled it was impossible to tell who held which role. The wind swirled through the attack, the bird dancing expertly with it, around it, moulding directed gusts to suit feathered purpose. 

They hit the two sites, Robin low, Kaze high.

They hit them hard, they hit them fast.

They hit them simultaneously.

The robot exploded.

That was unexpected, that was when it all came apart. 

Replaying the scene agonisingly in his mind afterwards, over and over, Robin would torment himself wondering what he could have done differently. It would only be a good deal later, after much soul-searching, that he'd come to realise the answer was 'nothing'.

Rather than the expected shut-down, the robot's detonation caught the room's occupants off-guard as heated shrapnel from the blast sprayed the area. One chunk, thudding into a nondescript section of the wall behind the trapped members of Young Justice, caused the black goo to disappear as abruptly as a thrown switch (a likely scenario, Superboy realised; after all, the goo had to be activated from a point _somewhere_). Another chunk interrupted the energy bars of the cage holding Secret, allowing a gap through which she could escape.

But before all this, a third shard hurtled towards the much-closer Robin. 

He saw it coming, they all did. Robin, crouched in the aftermath of hitting the lower of the two target sites, flung himself to the side, knowing with sick certainty even as he did so that he'd never make it in time . . .

There was a sick, wet thud as a large chunk of shrapnel punched into flesh. A pattering rain of blood completed the gory orchestra, and Robin felt a heavy weight descend upon his chest.

It took him another few seconds to realise that it was weight only. The dull ache in his side was a souvenir of the earlier bruising he'd sustained from the shooting and the fall, but there was no new pain.

_No other pain . . ._ Robin rolled over, shifting the weight off. Disbelievingly, he stared down at the source of the pressure.

Kaze's – or rather Yuki's – body.

S/he'd protected him. _He . . . Kaze threw himself in front of me? Threw **themselves**, himself and his cousin? To protect me?_ Frantically, he checked for a pulse, grabbed a pressure bandage from his first aid pouch to try and stem the outpouring of blood from the central wound. _Oh please, please, no! Not now I've just found you! Please!_

As his normally green gloves became incarnadined with blood, the figure he was frantically working on opened its eyes.

"I . . . heard you," Kaze said, the first indication Robin had that he'd voiced his pleas aloud.

"Shh. Don't try to speak. I've got to get this bleeding stopped and then get you to medical care and –"

"Don't." It was, Robin realised, pure Kaze speaking, the essence of Dix-huit subsumed. "Don't, Ro-kun. Just listen." With a painful wheeze, Kaze drew in a deep breath.

"My abdominal aorta's tearing. I'll die in a few minutes."

"NO!"

 "Shh. It's okay," gently, a now-frail seeming hand reached tremulously up to Robin's cheek. Unconsciously, he leaned into the caress, catching the hand in his own. "I did . . . what I . . . wanted." Kaze's eyes closed.

"What **we** wanted", eyes snapped open. This time the intelligence behind them was unmistakably Yuki. "I couldn't stand being . . . dix-huit. Even though . . . Kaze and I could be . . . together. It's . . . better like this. This way . . . we're still together . . . but we've . . . also helped . . ."

Again, Kaze took over. "She's right. We . . . saved you. . . that's all I . . ever wanted to do . . . mission accomplished."

"No!" Robin wailed, "No! You can't die! Don't leave me! You kept your promise to help me, but don't leave me now!"

"It's fine," this time Kaze and Yuki both spoke; still two people in the same body, but less distinct. "I kept my . . . promise, as you . . . kept yours."

"Did I?" Robin's simple anguish, the weeks of misery, poured into the two simple words. "Did I really? I no longer know who or what I am! Did I really keep my promise, to survive 'as myself'? How can I have, when I don't even know who that is anymore!?

"Silly," This time, though the choice of the first word was most definitely Yuki's, the comments that followed came straight from Kaze's heart. "You're still . . . a caring, kind person. One who . . . knows what's right, and how . . . to live your life with . . . honour and justice. One who will . . . always give. . . his best. All the strengths that were you before . . . I see in you now. Whether your . . . memories remain or not, you have survived, Ro-kun." Kaze's voice sharpened in intensity, the pain ignored as death took a steadily tighter grip, forcing him to hasten his words.  "You have survived as yourself, just like you promised. I could do no less than keep my own vow."

He lay back then, eyes drifting nearly shut, blood still bubbling out. "Hold . . . me? Like . . before?" Robin thought it was Kaze who spoke, though he could sense Yuki's assent.

"Always, my friend. Always."

"I  . . . I love . . ." This time, Robin could no longer tell who whispered the final words; the two intelligences, the two souls, were indistinguishable. 

Robin simply held the tattered body of his friend close, the blood still flowing from the abdominal wound, smearing his arms and chest, soaking his cape until all the world was red, the metallic tang of blood filling his nostrils. 

The hand fell from its place on his cheek.

The blood flow slowed, then stopped completely.

Robin howled with grief and rage. 

His world narrowed to himself and the body in his arms, it's rapid cooling defeating all his attempts to warm it. Before, even in the face of the Doctor's tortures, he'd been able to heat his friend, and be warmed in return, their comradeship a steady fire that cast off the chill of pain. But that fire was fading to memory, even as the figure cradled in his arms cooled. Now Robin was faced with his failure, the sense of it increasing with every chilling second, and it seemed overwhelming. _Kaze? Yuki? Please? Please wake up. You're getting too cold!_ Dimly he realised he was going into shock, but that paled in importance when compared with his loss.

Oblivious to the events behind him, Robin simply sat, cradling the corpse.

*******

            As it was, the events behind him turned out to be extremely interesting. The moment life fled Yuki's body, taking both the souls within it, Secret startled. Her eyes widened, and then narrowed into a look of pure rage.

            Without a word, she dissipated, wending her way through the cracks in the kill-chamber's ceiling.

            _Chains! They put chains on that boy's soul! On and around and through! That's how they brought him back, forced him into that girl's body! It wasn't a voluntary possession at all._ With the certainty of a homing pigeon, Secret followed the air currents deeper and deeper into the base.

            It didn't take her long to find that which she sought, and certainly her anger had not yet resolved by the time she arrived at her destination.

            This rage formed the basis of a very large part of the events that followed her discovery of the second, smaller chamber. A laboratory rather than a kill room and currently devoid of people, it was nonetheless equipped with all manner of surgical equipment and torture devices, to which Secret paid scant attention. Her focus was not on these, but rather on the innocuous-looking computer unit that sat tucked securely on a desk in the corner.

            Secret quivered with rage as she saw the hooks and chains extending from it in the dead realm she moved so easily through, it's nondescript appearance in the living world doing nothing to mute the monstrousness of it's true form to her sensitive eyes. Bindings from it, bindings of pure data, trapped a fragile, weakening soul in their grasp, a second spirit fluttering helplessly beside it, radiating concern._ So this is how they trapped you, Casey or what ever your name is. This is how they bound you away and pulled you back from the abyss, from sweet oblivion and the paradise you deserved! _

Her lips thinning, she reached out, gently disentangling the caught spirit, and gathering up its companion. She paused, anguished indecision as she contemplated her options. _I'm sorry Robin. I'm so sorry. But I can't keep them here! No matter how much you love them, it'd be wrong! They've suffered enough, let them make their own choice about where to go now. If I make it for them, if I keep them here for you, I'm no better than that computer!  _With that thought, she sent them onwards, through the abyss to their journey's end, her reward the heart-felt gratitude they washed over her. 

            It wasn't enough. Robin's emotional agony was great, she knew, and Secret felt irrationally that she'd betrayed him. Harshly, she shoved it into a corner of her mind, she'd deal with it later. Right now she had other things to do; a team to return to, an escape to make, a friend to comfort if he'd let her . . . but first and foremost, a little mass destruction to unleash. She turned her attention back to the computer, and her guilt and misery turned again to anger as she shifted to a semi-solid state and walked through the machine.

            For the second time that day, something exploded in Al Ghul's base. This time, though, it was more precious than a simple elimination mecha. This time it was the unique computer that held the Doctor's neural maps, the plans for the unfinished number eighteen, and the activation sequences for the successful twenty.

            In her pique, Secret ensured that the lab went up with it.

            Unfortunately, the result of this was that the base's foundations were no longer stable. As a spitting, angry Demon evacuated from one side of the base, the mist girl made her way back to her companions in the kill-chamber, the building rocking, tearing itself apart around her.

            Not that Robin noticed.

            He remained sitting on the floor, covered in rapidly congealing blood and holding the lifeless corpse that had recently housed two of his dear friends, oblivious to the destruction around him as first one, then the second, of the security camera fixtures came crashing down.

            Fortunately, Wondergirl managed to catch the first before it hit the nearly-insensate Boy Wonder, while Superboy prevented the other from splintering into shards every bit as lethal as the ones from the robot. 

            Projectiles had already claimed one life this day. He was loath to let them take another.

            In the interim, Impulse had done a circuit of the complex, assuring himself that it was indeed devoid of other people (after Shiva's trashing of his India base and with it the loss of certain useful personnel, the Demon had gotten evacuation drills right, at least), gently picked up the still-groggy Empress and helped her to the cycle, and snatched up Robin's discarded wig and mask at the same time. _I don't know if he'll want these. I guess at the moment it doesn't matter. But then again, it might._

            "C'mon guys! Let's go!" He shouted, hauling himself into the revving Supercycle. Wondergirl quickly followed suit, as did the newly returned Secret.

            Sharply, the blonde looked at the mist girl beside her, noting her team mate's expression. "Everything okay?" 

            "No. Not at all. But better than the alternative." _Even if Robin will hate me for it. _Secret turned aside then, and Wondergirl took the hint. After all, everyone had their little . . . secrets. Following the other's gaze, she fixed on the remaining two members of Young Justice.

            She was just in time to see Superboy bodily pick up the unresponsive Robin and half carry, half throw him towards the cycle. The Boy Wonder's face held an expression so lost, so desolate, that she had to turn aside, hearing rather than seeing Superboy shove him into his accustomed place astride the cycle, holding him there with his TK while taking his own seat.

            Briefly, Wondergirl worried that they'd be stuck, wouldn't get out with Robin obviously in no state to pilot the cycle.  Her concerns were groundless.

            Whether by some subtle direction from the boy wonder, or (more likely) on it's own initiative, the cycle phased out as soon as all of Young Justice was aboard.

            The trip back was almost an anticlimax.

            Almost.

            What happened when they arrived was anything but.

End Part Eight.

Continued in Part Nine.

NOTES

A big apology to Lockheed. Next part involves less (no?) Timmy-torture. Promise. No, really I do. Thanks again to those who've commented on previous parts, and yes, this is also a blatant request for more C&C on this part – I love getting feedback. Makes me write more. 


	9. part 9

Wind and the Snow 

Part IX

Disclaimer: The characters portrayed herein belong to DC, Warner Bros, and whoever else. Not me. I am simply borrowing them briefly for the purposes of entertainment. No profit is being made from this fanfic.

NOTE: Okay, I admit it. This part isn't written how I originally plotted it. It's been truncated and a lot of the planned content, I have decided, would fit really nicely into the now-slightly-plot-modified interlude fic that will follow this one. Blame a smallish, teetering stack of Ultra's, a really nifty fic-inspiring panel of Ridley and Donny in one of the aforementioned, and the friend who loaned them to me. Not my fault at all. Really. Honest. . . sigh. **hangs head** 

As always C&C would be greatly appreciated.

*********

            The flight back occurred in eerie silence. 'Eerie' because never before, in all their adventuring, had Young Justice managed to remain quiet for any length of time, even with, as Superboy had occasionally pointed out, Robin doing 'the Bat-Glare of Doom'. 

            It was still a fair comment: No one was glaring, least of all Robin, though he was nonetheless the reason for the quietude. Still uncovered, the blood-coated boy's face was schooled into a blankness that rivalled his normal mask. Though none of them, least of all Superboy, would ever admit it, it was more unnerving than any grim stare. 

            Robin didn't notice. For once, the ever-observant junior detective moved in the strict autopilot mode that was a product of both Batman's training and the remnants of the Doctor's programming.  

            Impulse, with more tact than most of Young Justice would have given him credit for, was quietly tending the still-woozy Empress, whilst surreptitiously keeping half an eye on Robin. _Not that I think he'll throw himself off the cycle or anything. Anyway, the cyke wouldn't let him, but still . . ._ His hand tightened around the mask and wig he'd stowed on the seat next to him.

            Superboy sat quietly, alone with his thoughts despite the close proximity of Wondergirl. _Well, this was a major disaster. Murder, mayhem and a trip to the desert were **not** what I had in mind for this little reunion! Gawd, poor Rob. He looks like I felt when Tana. . . when I lost Tana. For all that he denies it was romantic, there was definitely some attachment to that chick, or at least the guy in her body._

            Beside him, Wondergirl split her time between watching Robin worriedly and glancing across at Secret. Not that she was, like, concerned or anything. Nah, not her. Robin was tough, he was trained by the Bat. Bat-people did this tragedy stuff all the time, to keep themselves in that whole grim and gritty frame of mind, right? Right? _And I wish I knew what's eating Secret. I can't help but think it's connected, and not just because she's got a crush on Rob. _

            Secret's crush on Rob, while central to her own concerns, was the least of the issues she grappled with. Rather, it was regret and determination that coloured her thoughts. _I couldn't have done anything else. Even to make Robin smile and be happy again. It would have been wrong, unfair. But I'll have to tell him. Somehow. Some things just shouldn't be . . . Secret. Blast it all to the Abyss, why does doing the right thing have to hurt so much? And more, why does it have to hurt others?_

            Each was so wrapped in their own thoughts that it was almost a surprise when the Supercycle phased in to the Titan Tower's garage, parking itself with a fatigued lurch.

            Without a word, Robin slung himself off the cycle and walked into the currently unoccupied complex, paying little obvious attention to the computer message that played as they arrived, informing them that they were to stay put if they got back first, that the Titans were looking for them and would be back soon.

            Slowly, the others trailed after him, though all but the boys had the good sense to stop when they reached Nightwing's quarters, hearing the shower going within. Superboy and Impulse stepped into the room, staying just long enough for Kon to pull some clothes from the sleepover bag he'd brought with him and put them on the bed; the shorts and shoes would be a bit large, but, combined with the Gotham Knights T-shirt he rummaged out of Nightwing's drawer, would still be better than the blood-stained remnants of costume that Robin had scattered through the room, left where they'd fallen as he stripped.

            Impulse, for a miracle, took a moment longer. Then, with deliberate care, he set down his own burden. A mask and a now-neatly brushed wig joined the clothing. "Just in case. Just in case he wants them."

            The sounds of 'shower' still going, the two left the room, rejoining the girls (including Cissie and the now less-groggy Anita) in the common room. Despite his absence, Robin was again the reason for the silence.

            It stretched out awfully long, well after the shower sounds eventually stopped. It stretched out until the three resident Titans returned, when it was broken by a gaggle of explanations, all of which Nightwing ignored as soon as he had ascertained his little brother's location, a destination he promptly set off for. Eyes averted, no one else followed.

            The door, to Nightwing's intense gratitude, remained unlocked. Not that he couldn't have opened it anyway, of course, but to do so would have been . . . rude. Even if it was his own room. Quietly, he slipped inside, half expecting his little brother to have pulled a repeat of his earlier vanishing act. What he saw was nothing of the sort.

            Robin sat huddled in the middle of the floor, barefoot but otherwise clothed, clutching his towel. His back was to the door, but nonetheless his head rose as Nightwing entered. _Just like Batman, _the older hero thought irrationally, before his attention refocussed on the figure in front of him.

            "Robin?" gently, as if soothing an injured wild animal, Nightwing spoke. The boy stirred slightly and he took that as invitation enough to kneel next to his little brother, careful not to touch the other.

            "Robin, it's me."

            "It won't go away."

            "huh?" He asked, intelligently. It certainly wasn't quite what he'd expected to hear.

            "The water. From the shower. I towelled it away, but it's still there. I washed all the blood away with water but now the water won't go." Robin turned and his face, framed with still-damp tendrils of hair, was unmasked. And wet.

            Tears poured from his eyes, streaming down his cheeks to pool on his chin and drip on the tightly clutched towel.

            Nightwing gently took the cloth from the other's fingers.

            "Robin, it's not from the shower," he found his voice. "It's tears. You're crying." 

            "I'm . . .crying? I can't be crying." The suddenly pleasant, emotionless tones of his voice were unnerving, hinting at a far greater trauma than even Nightwing had suspected. "I'm not programmed to cry." _Tears are a comfort we are denied, _he thought, _I couldn't cry for Kaze's first death, scream yes, pound out my anger yes. But I couldn't cry! Why should I cry now? I cannot be crying!_ Yet the proof, undeniable, rolled down his face to splash over his still-clenched fingers. _Kaze! Yuki!_

            Suddenly he found himself sobbing. Rage and grief and anguish all pouring from him in a torrent of salty water and gasping wails. Dimly he was aware of Nightwing holding him, rocking him gently and whispering soothingly. 

After what seemed like an eternity, the emotions gripping him eased slightly, ebbing back to allow darkness to take hold of him, lulling him into sweet oblivion. He took what it offered greedily.

            Nightwing sighed as he tucked Robin under the covers on the bed; worn out from grieving, the boy had finally fallen asleep. _This isn't what I'd hoped for, bringing him here._ He thought, unconsciously echoing Superboy's earlier ruminations. _But I'd be lying if I held that it served no purpose; he's getting his emotions back. He's coming back to himself, he's my little brother again! _Gently, a smile creased his features as he smoothed the long, dark tangles from the fragile-looking, tearstained face before him. _I'm impressed he managed to hide the hair for that long. I guess Alfred helped him do it. It must be pretty important to him, if he'll defy Bruce over it._ Mentally, he shook himself._ I need to find out what happened when they took off, what caused this development. But now that he **has** regained this ability to cry, I know – somehow – that it's . . . it's going to be okay. It really is going to be okay!_

            The thought was no small comfort as he went off to find the rest of Young Justice, and with them some answers.

****************

            The answers he found were unpleasant, and as a result of sorting through them, neither he nor anyone else checked on Robin for several hours. When they did peer into the dimly lit room, it was to discover that the Boy Wonder had indeed pulled another of his vanishing acts.

            This time, however, it was Secret who found him, and she did so on the roof. He sat silently watching the pre-dawn grey through masked eyes, looking out from under a wig of short-cropped hair. 

            _I guess now's as good a time as any to talk to him, _she steeled herself._ Sooner's better than later, anyhow. _

            "Uh . . . hi, Robin." She hesitated, then coalesced into a seating position beside him, intangible but nonetheless there. He said nothing as she joined his vigil, voicing none of the turmoil that had scorched his mind and soul through the long night.

            "I . . . needed to talk to you. To tell you something important, and to say I'm so sorry. It's. . . it's about that boy, and the girl."

            ". . ." Again he said nothing, but she sensed he was listening.

            "They . . . well, he was, at least. Trapped, that is. They'd bound his soul into some sort of computer. A really weird one, not like what we use at all. It was like they'd fingerprinted his spirit and copied it. But you can't copy a soul, they're one of a kind. So all they did is trap it, caught in chains of information in this computer. I don't even know if they realised that's what they'd done, that that's what they put into that girl's mind and body." _ I'm babbling. Talking around what I need to say, around the important stuff! _She took a deep breath, somewhat intimidated by the unnatural stillness of the figure beside her. He wasn't looking at her, but every ounce of his posture screamed attention. _At least I know he's listening. Oh, this will hurt though. _

            "He was . . . weakening. And she was staying with him, jeopardising her own passage onwards."  Anxiety, and the remembered pain of her choice twisted in her chest. Steeling herself, Secret continued. "So I freed him. From the computer, I mean. And then . . . then I sent them onwards." She looked up wildly, misty tears dampening her eyes as she desperately sought his understanding.

            "I had to! Do you see?! I couldn't keep them here! I couldn't make them be . . . be like me, even if only a little, even to make you smile and be as quietly happy as you used to be! I'm so sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry." The threatened tears became a gaseous reality as she sobbed into her hands. "I'm so . . . so very sorry!"

            His response was so quiet she almost didn't hear it.

            "Thank you." 

            That got her attention.

            "I'm sor- Huh?"

            "Kaze and Yuki . . . they're special." _And trained in mystical techniques I suspect you and I can barely imagine, given their family heritage._ "If they wanted to stay, well, a little thing like death wouldn't have stopped them. Didn't stop Yuki, since you say she stayed with Kaze when he was trapped. So once you freed him, even if you tried to send them on, if they'd really wanted – _needed_ – to stay, they would have, especially once Kaze's soul was free of the Doctor's tainting of his mind. They would never have left anything unfinished behind." 

He paused, then continued, more to himself than to Secret, whose tears had lapsed into stunned silence. "Kaze kept his promise. And by moving on, by letting go, he showed that I'd kept mine. As well as telling me, he proved it to me." 

            Finally, Robin turned to face her, a soft smile playing on his lips. Gently, he pulled off his mask and Secret gasped.

            The smile, bittersweet but pure, reached his eyes. 

            A smile not for the dead, but for the living.

            "I've survived, as Robin. As myself."

            He drew a deep breath.

            "I've survived as a human being. Kaze and Yuki will always be with me. No matter what realm their souls are in now, they'll be with me inside."

            _Tears and smiles. Joy and despair. I have them now, I feel them. I can even show them. I am me again._

            In front of them, the golden colours of dawn spread into their full glory, welcomed by the delighted song of a red-breasted robin, and the silent peace of his unfeathered namesake.

            A new day had come, and with it hope. 

End.

NOTES

Well, no, not really. That's just the end of this fic. At least two more fics set in the Twenty AU are in the works. Even as we speak (type?) they've been plotted, and writing will start soon. As to why Robin appears to have worked through his issues so quickly, the answer is simply . . . he hasn't. Not yet, not in the space of one night. But he's at least made a start, and it's the sense of wonder he's gotten from that that he's communicating to Secret. Further exploration of the themes is plotted into my next fic, but I really hate leaving with an unhappy/angsty ending, so . . . (yes, I do consider this a happy ending. Robin is starting to heal, and become his own person again. This is a good thing.) A great big thank you to Maggie, without whose cheerful encouragement this would likely have taken a fair bit longer, and to Lockheed, for waiting so patiently for a happy ending – more of that to follow, since I've shifted a number of my planned plot-lines to the sequel fic. You guys are great! I would really love C&C on this fic. **goes SD with great big puppy dog eyes.** 


End file.
